Becoming Unbroken
by Sulerina
Summary: Hope is a weakness—no one knows this better than Atton Rand. But as he finds himself enmeshed in yet another war, Jedi Exile Nadira Obsidian challenges his every belief with offers of a second chance. Can he trust the Exile when he doesn't even trust himself? LSF Exile/Atton Please R&R!
1. Cutting Your Losses

A/N: This story is based off of the game play of Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic 2. The main character is Nadira Obsidian, a Light Side Female Knight. The story follows the basic plot line of the game play itself—with a few twists.

I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

Cover Art of Atton by the brilliantly gifted SavageBetty whose KOTOR drawings on DeviantArt helped inspire me.

Many thanks to Shadesalogel who helped with her own creative genius in the way of edits and suggestions! :D

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**Chapter 1: Cutting Your Losses**

Nadira gasped as she heard someone enter the crews' quarters behind her. Her hand clasped her lightsaber but she had no time to activate it as something slammed her from behind. Hands grasped her wrists, spun her around and pinned her to the bulkhead. She grunted as the wind was driven from her lungs. Shocked to have been caught so unaware, she was floored to see Atton restraining her. He locked gazes with her, seeing confusion in her blue eyes. After a second, his head bowed, brown hair falling forward to veil his eyes. And while he retained his firm hold, his grasp did not chafe her wrists.

She struggled to regain her breath for a moment. "Atton?" she asked tremulously.

"I have to leave," he murmured.

Nadira felt a wave of pain and grief wash over her. Again, she couldn't breathe though for different reasons now. "Why?"

He didn't move, head still bowed, voice still quiet. "It's not safe for you to be around me."

"What are you talking about? I trust you—"

"That's the problem." His eyes lifted finally. They smoldered with a dangerous light, leaving no trace within of the Atton Nadira relied on. "Notice how easily I disarmed you?" He motioned with a jerk of his head to her lightsaber on the floor.

His tone of dark indifference and cold gaze signaled warnings for a moment before she dismissed them. "Then it's a good thing for me that you're on my side," she answered easily.

The smoldering eyes blazed with anger. "Am I?" His grip on her wrists tightened and twisted slightly till she grimaced, her eyes widening. He fought the impulse to slacken his grip at the fear in her eyes. "You understand now, don't you?"

She shook her head. "No. Why are you doing this?"

He growled. "You let your guard down too much around me!" The pilot leaned closer. The warmth of her breath caressed his cheek, almost causing him to falter. But he steeled his resolve, forcing himself to focus. "You know about my past. You know what I am."

"I know what you _were_. But you're not like that anymore."

"What makes you so sure?" He let the question hang in the air. It had been meant to cause her to doubt him, but he was surprised to get an answer.

"Because of your actions." Her expression softened as she spoke. "You fight at our side even though you don't normally look out for anyone but yourself. You watch Mical's and Kreia's backs despite frequent assertions to hate them. You protect me, even at the risk of your own life—"

Atton shook his head, releasing her wrists as he turned. "You're so blind, Nadira. Even that old hag is a better judge of character than you." He faced her again, clearly frustrated. "You're always seeing the world for what it could be—not for what it _is_! And that's gonna get you killed someday."

"You make it sound like hope is a weakness—"

"It is!" he burst, advancing on her again. "You have no idea who or what I am. You have no clue how hard I struggle against the darkness you assume has magically disappeared—"

"I know you still fight it," Nadira said, momentarily silencing him in shock.

"You—you know?"

"Yes."

"Then how could you trust me—"

"Atton, the proof you're different is that you _fight_ it. If you were still the Sith you used to be, you wouldn't even bother."

"But what if I lose that fight?" He hung his head, face burning in shame. "You don't know the thoughts that lurk in my mind, the nightmares about you…" His voice wavered and he swallowed hard before he could continue. "…about what I do to you." He couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze, afraid of how she'd respond. _Why am I always admitting these things to her anyway?!_ he raged. _It's not like I want her to know!_ "You _say_ I'm free from their influence. If I truly were, would I have to fight so hard to protect you from myself?"

She stood silent for a moment. "How long have you been fighting these dreams?"

"Since Korriban." He let out a bitter chuckle. "The moment we set foot on the surface, I knew it'd been a mistake… They're getting worse."

Atton almost jumped when Nadira grasped his shoulders tenderly. He wanted to flinch away, but froze rather as her forehead rested on his. Again, he felt their breath stir the air between them and mingle. Her actions both mesmerized and astounded him. She _hated_ showing weakness. As a general rule, she avoided doing anything that could be construed as affection for the pilot. Likewise, he'd employed the same principle aside from the occasional off-colored comment to get a rise out of the stoic general. Now, she gazed at him with unguarded eyes, and it was all he could do not to take her into his embrace.

She closed her eyes, face carved with regret. "I'm sorry. I should never have asked you to accompany me on that mission. That was thoughtless—no, it was heartless of me. I was so absorbed with my own fears that I didn't consider how it would affect you to be in such a stronghold of the dark side." She looked up at him. "I know you fear yourself, what you might do. I don't. You are stronger than you let others or even yourself believe." Her voice was reassuring, her eyes confident. "I'm willing to take the risk."

There, intoxicated with her, he almost broke. But then his eyes narrowed. "Sometimes you just have to play it safe, cut your losses and walk away." He stepped back looking at her with cold eyes. "When we reach Onderon, I think I'll take my things and be on my way." Without waiting for her response, he turned and casually walked away. With each step, the knife in his heart twisted a little more. In the cockpit, he slumped over the controls. _You may be willing to take the risk_, he thought behind the safety of his Pazaak mind-shields, _but _I'm_ not_.


	2. Repercussions

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 2: Repercussions**

Nadira stood fixed to the spot, numb as she heard Atton's steps recede. It was a few moments before she even had the presence of mind to breathe again, and it faltered as it came.

_What just happened?_ she asked herself. But she found no answer. Conflicted, she didn't know where to begin deciphering the dizzying turn of events.

She stumbled over to her bunk, collapsing. A distant part of her marveled at how little it had taken to daze her. Her—a former Jedi, a general of the Republic fleet, the veteran who had stood against the Mandalorians and ordered the destruction of Malachor V! And yet this man had blazed in, argued with her, and strolled away leaving her completely helpless.

Atton, she knew, was the sole cause of her paralysis. Had it been any other man, he'd have been neutralized before laying a hand on her. _"You let your guard down too much around me!"_ his words echoed through her mind. It was true she trusted him, but it was not a blind trust. He had proven himself enough in her eyes, though she'd never needed him to.

Through their mission, she'd sensed his frustrations, his fears. He kept them well hidden but a portion of it had still leaked through. In truth, she'd been watching him closely. Well, as closely as anyone could watch Atton—the man had a knack for disappearing when he wanted to. But she wanted to help him, not to cast him aside.

She shook her head. That wasn't even the reason his words had crippled her. When she was deadly honest with herself, she knew how she felt about him. From the beginning, she'd felt her heart race to see him, even as he stood in the prison cell where she'd found him. She'd fought it though. She was an Exile—Nadira had no right to ties with anyone. And since everyone close to her died, she'd simply closed off that part of her heart. _If it isn't dead already_, she thought bitterly. She'd only maintained her resolve on the premise that he didn't care for her. And in heartbeats, that safeguard shattered. As they'd held each other for the briefest moment, the ghost of her heart stirred, stoking feelings she'd tried to bury.

_How could he think I'd be safer without him?_ But she already knew the answer. He didn't trust himself, a victim of his past as much as the Jedi he'd interrogated. And now, he'd walk away. Her heart ached as her mind swam, trying to make sense of it all. She could attempt to read him through the Force, but she refused to consider the possibility, no matter the circumstances. She didn't like invading his privacy, but he was so difficult to read. There was fear in his voice, desperation in his eyes, as he'd admitted his struggles. She'd tried to assure him, but while he stiffened at her touch, his gaze had softened more than she thought possible. And for a second, her heart had been foolish enough to wonder... Then he'd retreated back into the fortress of his mind, his barriers snapping shut and sealing him inside.

Nadira buried her head in her hands as Atton's exit played out in her mind: the pilot turning away with indifference, as good as walking out of her life forever. A sob shook her frame as she admitted, if only to herself, that she didn't want him to go—that she'd give anything not to lose him. But it was over. She would not hold him here if he chose to leave. It would be safer for him this way.

Nadira clung to this truth as her only consolation. Curling up onto the bunk, she set her back to the hull and pulled her knees to her chest. She tried desperately to regain her composure. But the tears brought on by grief, pain and weariness would not surrender. At her command, the door shut. No one could see her like this. Questions or words of sympathy would only make things worse. Better to get this over with so she could pull her mask back into place afterwards. Closing her eyes, she let go, allowing the storm to engulf her.

Mical tried to focus on restocking the med supplies. But waves cresting through the Force left him reeling. Sadness was coursing through the ship without reprieve. Finally, he left his workstation and began to search out its source. Reaching the crews' quarters, he was surprised to find the door shut. Kreia stood just outside it, facing the door as though a window. Mical was confused. The source was definitely not Kreia, so he supposed she was probably here for the same reason he was.

"She can be such a fool at times," the old woman commented to herself. "Even for all her power, she still won't learn."

"Kreia?" Mical spoke, letting her know he was present. He didn't like to eavesdrop on others' conversations and didn't feel right listening to the blind woman voice thoughts she intended to keep private. "What's going on?"

But the woman didn't give any sign of surprise that he was there. She sighed in disgust. "Ask that fool pilot," she retorted, turning to walk away from the closed bulkhead. "I believe he could probably tell you everything." She continued past him without stopping, disappearing into the ship.

Mical turned to the bulkhead again and cast his Force senses into the room beyond. Waves of loneliness hit him as he struggled to identify their source. He was staggered when he finally discerned Nadira's Force signature at the center of it all. His brow furrowed in confusion, before Kreia's words cycled back through his mind. _"Ask that fool pilot. I believe he could probably tell you everything."_ His eyes narrowed. _Atton._ He knew that man would cause Nadira pain since the moment they first met. He was always taunting her, disrespecting her, treating her like she was dirt. Though she usually took it in stride and was perfectly capable of fighting her own battles, he had clearly crossed the line this time.

Mical then turned on his heel and headed for the cockpit.


	3. Haunting Shadows of the Past

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 3: Haunting Shadows of the Past**

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_**A month ago on Nar Shaddaa…**_

Nadira studied the grimy durasteel-floor, deep in thought. It had been a day or so since the two strangers had approached her in the Refugee Sector, and she had been considering their warning, debating on what to do with it. Atton? A murderer? It didn't seem possible. But then again in an odd way, it made sense. He seemed brash and confident by outward appearances—even through the Force, most of the time. But underneath his surface lay a darker core, one he kept in tight check. All his self-centered and self-assured shows only hid a war-torn soul, one with plenty of horrors in his past. Though whether he was the victim or the perpetrator was less clear. She knew this because it mirrored her own mask of serenity and strength. And, she supposed, some would consider her a murderer too…

"Oh, well this can't be good."

Nadira's gaze rose to see Atton staring at her with mock-dismay. "What's not good?"

"You've got that look on your face: ponderously staring at the floor or into the distance as you contemplate some weighty matter," he intoned the last sentence dramatically giving Nadira his best imitation of her expression. Once it had elicited an amused laugh out of the Exile, he shook his head, scolding. "You know, you wear that look far too often."

"I was thinking about something—"

"That's good," he nodded approvingly. "Your brain needs the exercise. It doesn't get out enough."

She raised her eyebrow. "Oh, that comeback took imagination," she challenged.

He scowled and grunted irritably.

"I was thinking about you—" she began then grimaced, realizing how that had come out. Atton smirked.

"You were?" he mused, swaggering a little as he closed the distance between them. He graced her with a charming grin, or at least Nadira gathered he _assumed_ it to be. "Now you see that's always something I encourage."

She tried to look unimpressed, but was shocked to feel her cheeks burning. The hue of her face only served to widen Atton's smug smile.

"I met someone on Nar Shaddaa who says he knows you," she said.

She sensed more than saw the change in him. His expression shifted only slightly, becoming more serious, and he took a step back. Otherwise, he appeared as cocky as usual.

"Yeah?" he scoffed. "That's a surprise. Did he say I owed him credits too?" He leaned back on the railing behind him, lazily crossing his arms.

The distance between them allowed Nadira to regain her composure. "He says you're not 'Atton' at all," she answered. "That you showed up on Nar Shaddaa during the Jedi Civil War."

The change in the man before her was staggering. Without moving a muscle, his entire demeanor changed from casual indifference to simmering rage. Furious at this challenge to his identity, his eyes hardened, pinning Nadira with a threatening glare.

"I'm as Atton as Atton will ever be," he growled. "And whoever your trusted informant is, he's right—I did show up on Nar Shaddaa during the Jedi Civil War…along with a lot of other refugees."

While unsettled by his anger, she didn't let it show. Weathering the tempests of his fury, she stood her ground, impassive but firm. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

His eyes narrowed to slits. "No," he said matter-of-factly, "because you're asking about it. If I wanted to tell you anything, I would have come out and told you. Anything else?" She could hear the warning in his voice, clearly suggesting a change of subject was her healthiest option right now.

She held up her hands, trying to placate him. "Calm down. I just wanted to know. No harm meant. I'm sorry."

He actually blinked. "'I'm sorry'?... Really?" The man shook his head in disbelief. "Is this an interrogation? Because if so, you're terrible at it, especially for a Jedi." His brow furrowed, eyes rolling. "Or ex-Jedi. Or whatever it is you are. Why don't you just crawl around in my head and try to dig out whatever you're looking for rather than asking me about it?"

She flinched, repulsed by the idea and insulted by his taunt. "I would never do that to you."

He tilted his head mockingly. "Oh you mean like last time?"

Now _her_ eyes hardened. "That was an accident. And I apologized for it. I had been meditating, listening to the Force—as a result I could hear the surface thoughts of _everybody_ nearby. But I would never knowingly violate your privacy. I thought we could trust each other more than that. _That_ is why I'm standing here asking you."

He straightened again, taking a step forward and jabbing an accusing finger at her chest. "You know what—I helped you get off Peragus," he declared indignantly. "Without me, you wouldn't have even gotten off the Administration Level. I'm trying to _help_ you." A growl escaped the pilot's lips as he turned away in disgust. "I don't know why I'm bothering."

Her lips formed a tight line, hurt at his cool dismissal. "Then why are you trying to protect me?"

Atton froze, his expression becoming both puzzled and frustrated. "I don't know. I'm not sure _I_ understand it half the time." Then his anger returned. "I just have to, okay."

Nadira suppressed growl herself. Atton seemed eager to test her patience daily, though never before had he truly succeeded. She tried to keep her voice from showing how close he was to his goal. "I want to know where you were before you arrived on Nar Shaddaa."

The pilot bristled, his stance growing more defensive with every passing moment. "You know what? Not once have I asked you about the Mandalorian Wars. Not once! I've heard about Dxun. Everyone has. I heard about Serroco, and I've definitely heard about Malachor V! What makes you think you have the right to interrogate me on anything? You've got plenty of lives to answer for—all you Jedi do."

Nadira's heart froze in her chest at each world mentioned. At any minute, she feared it would drop into her stomach, shattering on impact. But she had opened the door. And she would not withhold the truth from him. "If you have a question to ask," she spoke quietly, "then ask."

Disregarding the solemnity dawning on her countenance, he pressed ahead defiantly. "How did you even live with yourself after Malachor? Is that why you went back to the Jedi Council? Hoping they'd kill you?"

"It wasn't like that."

"Wasn't it? Maybe you thought they'd forgive you—sure, you might have thought they'd execute you," then he paused, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "But Jedi don't kill, do they? At least not their prisoners anyway."

She looked at the floor, hardly seeming to breathe for a second. "No," she whispered. "No, they don't."

Rand's chin rose a little as he watched her. "Maybe you were counting on it when you went back in chains." Her head snapped up, staring at him in disbelief. He grinned as if he were on to something. "So you got off easy—you were exiled, brushed under the cargo ramp, another dirty little Jedi secret."

"Easy?!" she gasped sharply. "You think exile was an easy punishment for me?"

Though she had not moved, her presence enveloped them both, and its power dazed him. Now it was Atton's turn to weather the fury of her storm. But hers was different, not only tearing at the pilot but at herself as well, threatening to drown the pair in turbid seas of pain and emptiness. His plan was working. He could see a fraction of her capabilities, the ones she hid so closely. And what he saw did little to reassure him. He felt the wells of power surging within her. But she never let anyone in, never let anyone see how deep they ran. _Heh, she'd probably kill anyone who found out_, he thought. But in order to survive when she turned on him, as all Jedi eventually did, he needed to plumb their depths. So he provoked her further. "I'll tell you—all those Jedi at Malachor? They deserved it. Every last one of them."

She stiffened, hardly blinking as she gaped at him. He waited for her reaction, eyes glinting at her in challenge. Nadira perched precariously on the brink between rage and disbelief. Then to his astonishment, a single tear trailed down her cheek.

"'Those Jedi'," she breathed haltingly, "sacrificed their lives to save you and the rest of the galaxy from Mandalorians." Then her face darkened, voice growing in volume. "If it weren't for those Jedi's selflessness," she clenched her fists, "a hundred more of worlds would have fallen."

"You mean if it weren't for your sacrifice on their behalf."

At these words, Nadira's eyes closed and all her strength wavered. Taking a deep breath, rage converted to sorrow and she lifted her eyes to meet his. "Regardless, their courage saved our galaxy. They did not deserve that fate." She shook her head, studying Atton incredulously. "How could you even think that?"

"Because Jedi lie. And they manipulate. And every act of charity or kindness they do, you can drag it out squirming into the light and see it for what it is," he snapped. "The galaxy doesn't need Jedi arrogance or Jedi hypocrisy anymore!"

Nadira shook her head. "The Jedi are guardians of the peace. They are not as you describe."

"You don't get it do you? The Jedi, the Sith, to the galaxy they're the same thing—just men and women with too much power, squabbling over ideology while the rest of us burn," he declared. "At least the Sith are honest about what they're killing for. The Jedi are pacifists… except in times of war. They're teachers… except when it comes to telling their own students the truth. And when they save you, it's only so you can suffer more."

At this, the Exile's gaze softened. He continued to watch her, confused at her reaction. Then he noticed her anger had drained away completely, her sadness locked in by barriers once more. He cursed inwardly as he realized he had shown too much of himself, exacerbating his own bitterness instead of Nadira's. Now she gazed at him in quiet understanding, and he still did not know all she was capable of doing. _And now the unending stream of concerned and penetrating questions about my past_, he realized with dread.

Nadira watched him bracing himself as though for an interrogation, and her brow furrowed. She knew the wars of the recent past had disillusioned many in the Order, let alone the Republic, herself not excluded. She had been dumbfounded and horrified at the Council's decision not to interfere when the Republic had asked for their help. And it had taken several atrocities by Mandalorian forces simply to get the Republic to respond. But Atton's resentment ran deeper. Nadira had not suffered through the Jedi Civil War. Not truly. She was en route to the Outer Rim the week it had begun. Forceless, she had felt no stirrings of the Sith within the galaxy. At length she realized Atton was right. The dangers of the Rim would have been nothing compared to the horrors of another decimating war. Her life in exile, though one of her greatest trials, had been far easier than she had any right to expect.

"You speak with the voice of experience," she said simply.

"And you expect me to tell you all about it now, don't you?" he guessed.

She shrugged, leaning back against the transport crate behind her.

Atton scowled. Her patience just aggravated him all the more. Having failed in his object, he knew she'd be insufferably concerned until he gave her some answers. He didn't want her to know about his past. He'd even agreed to follow Kreia's orders when the old crone blackmailed him with the secret she'd pried forcibly from his mind. And yet, Nadira didn't follow the same pattern, had flat out refused it at his suggestion. Why? The pilot shook his head at length, giving up on trying to make sense of this atypical Jedi. He focused on her, contemplating his answer. Telling her the truth might burrow past her defenses. Give him a chance to see what she was really capable of…and of what he could be up against. At last, he growled, conceding defeat. "Alright fine. But don't get too attached to me—it doesn't pay off."

"It has so far," she observed. But there was a change in his presence—a sense that didn't normally accompany his veneer of confidence.

"Heh. Well, that depends on your perspective. I…have this habit…I'm a deserter. It's what I do," he admitted, gauging her reaction from the corner of his eye. Nadira looked at him in surprise, but not with disgust or resentment as he'd expected.

"You served in the war?"

"Served in both of them. Against the Mandalorians, before and after Revan. Then again…when Revan declared war on the Jedi."

The Exile studied him intently. "I didn't know you served the Republic."

The man scoffed inwardly. "I did. Up until the Republic officers began to 'betray' their oaths to the Republic and side with Revan—Admiral Karath, Mon Halan, General Derred, and all the rest. After that final battle at Malachor, I was alongside the rest of the defectors, because it was the right thing to do."

"That was wrong," she disagreed calmly. "You answered war with war."

"No, it wasn't," he insisted. "We needed the Jedi during the Mandalorian Wars more than anything. The Mandalorians were slaughtering us by the millions. The millions!" His brown eyes burned with dark indignation, daring her to tell him differently. "You were there—at Serroco when they turned the Stereb cities into glass craters. At Duro, when basilisk war droids rained down like meteors onto the orbiting cities. And when the Mandalorians set fire to the Xoxin plains on Eres III—the fires that _still_ burn!"

In his face, Nadira saw that those plains were not the only things left burning—and she, not the only one to witness them.

"Without the Jedi who turned on the Council," he continued, "without you, the Republic would have lost the war, and we would all be Mandalorian slaves or corpses."

"Is that reason enough to start another war, ending more lives?" the Exile asked.

"We were loyal to Revan," he answered. "That was enough. She saved us."

Nadira's eyes closed as she sighed heavily. Revan's charisma had always been strong. Stronger than most, and that often left the Council at a loss for control of the bright Jedi pupil. "So you followed Revan—like I had."

Atton straightened, nodding. "After Malachor, after the Mandalorian Wars, that's when the Sith teachings started spreading through the ranks. We knew where our loyalties lay—to the Jedi who came to help us, not the ones who sat back on Coruscant and Dantooine watching us die. So when those same Jedi who watched us die decided to start fighting us during the Jedi Civil War, we fought back. I fought back."

He'd turned away as he spoke. Nadira watched him carefully. He seemed unwilling to look at her now. "How?" she asked carefully.

He didn't respond immediately. "I started killing Jedi. A lot of them." He turned to face her again, his expression remarkably casual. "People say killing Jedi is hard. It's not, you just have to be smart about it. No blasters, no getting close to them, no attacking them directly when you can gun down their allies instead." He started advancing on her. "There's ways of gassing them, drugging them, making them lose control, torturing them. I was really good at it," he crowed with a somber sort of pride. He could feel how his words unsettled her, even if she refused to show it, face calmly serene and contemplative. His face close to hers now, he added, "What's worse, is that killing them wasn't even the best thing. Making them fall...making them see our side of it, _that_ was the best."

She kept her expression neutral, though her heartbeat quickened. "You make it sound so easy," she whispered. But she didn't think he was as proud of these accomplishments as he appeared to be.

"I taught myself… techniques. It's hard for a Jedi to sense what you're really thinking if you throw up walls of strong emotions and feelings. Greed, impatience, cowardice…" He shook his head. "Most Jedi awareness doesn't cruise beyond the surface feelings, to see what's deeper." As he spoke, he paused, brow furrowing. He didn't understand why he was being so frank with her about this. He had planned to tell her the truth to a point, but his abilities were certainly not things he trusted anyone with, not even Nadira. …Or did he? He shook his head, but continued anyway. "I was good at that, throwing up walls, and my superiors knew it. Sometimes the Jedi on our side wouldn't even realize I was there."

"That's why you act the way you do?" she asked gently. "You force emotions to block someone from reading your mind?"

He looked down at the floor. "Part of it," he murmured in a quiet voice. "Maybe it was always me. It's hard to tell sometimes. I haven't known who I am for years…" He started in shock. Had he really said that aloud? He looked up at Nadira, expecting to see triumph or discovery in her eyes. But the only things that dwelt in their depths were compassion and sad understanding. He blinked. She had lowered her guard when he had. An opportunity…and a danger. But he didn't want to continue down that path. "Yeah, I had a talent for it. More like an instinct. I wasn't the only one. I know you left at the end of the Mandalorian Wars. So you don't know much of what went on behind the scenes of the Jedi Civil War. But Revan understood one thing—the real battle was going to be the one fought between the Jedi on both sides. That was the only fight that mattered."

Nadira looked down thoughtfully, attempting to absorb his words. "What do you mean?" she asked glancing back up at him.

"Whoever had the most, the strongest Jedi were going to win the Civil War," he explained. "If Revan couldn't convert the Jedi, then Revan would kill them. So she trained elite Sith units into assassination squads, whose duty was to go out and capture enemy Jedi. I was in one of the special units trained to do this."

"Capture Jedi, not kill them?"

"Yeah, Revan had plans for all Jedi," he replied gravely. "I think it was important that the Jedi see her side of things, the Sith teachings. Revan wanted to break them, then have them join her."

The Exile tilted her head in curiosity. "But you're here now. How did you break away? And why did you leave?"

_No_, he decided. _No way am I telling her that. I've already given her too much_. "One day, I decided not to do it anymore, so I left. Ended up on Nar Shaddaa. Became someone else."

"Why are you telling me this?" she whispered. He could see his disbelief mirrored in hers. Yet she was less horrified by his revelation than confused at his trust. "Telling a Jedi that you've killed Jedi?"

He laughed inwardly. _I don't know any more than you do_. "Because you've killed Jedi, too," he guessed. Playing it back in his head, he nodded in satisfaction and decided to stick with that explanation. It actually made sense. "Different circumstances, but you have a bigger body count than I ever did." He paused. "And while I've been with you only a short time, it's been long enough to know that as soon as someone signs on with you, they haven't got long to live. You've got a history and anyone who travels with you doesn't. Maybe I want someone to know who I was in case a story needs to be set straight. Maybe you understand."

But as he sought her eyes again, he could see that his guess had unsettled her more than his confession had. Her gaze fixed on the floor, face almost neutral but expression troubled. Sliding away from him, she took a couple of steps, a deep breath causing her shoulders to rise and fall. He swallowed painfully. "Or was that presumption on my part?" he grated out, with more pain than he'd expected.

She whirled, arms outstretched and shaking her head adamantly. "No," she assured him. "It isn't you…" her voice was strong in its assertion then trailed off, thoughts becoming distant once more.

His brow furrowed then smoothed. Her doubt wasn't directed at him. _You have a history…_ The pain in her gaze stretched inwards. _…and anyone who travels with you doesn't._

"So what made you leave the Sith?" she asked, trying to divert the attention from herself again.

He settled back against the crate where she'd been standing a moment ago, sighing as indecision warred within him. _I shouldn't be telling her this_, he raged at himself. But as he looked up, she waited patiently for his answer or silence—whichever he chose. She was content to let him decide, he realized, refusing to stoop to deception, manipulation, or using the Force to tear it from his thoughts. A defeated chuckle escaped his lips. "Well, there was a woman," he said at length. "A Jedi. She… she gave her life for mine."

Nadira moved to stand beside him. "Who? An assignment?"

"It wasn't a mission," he shook his head, "and I never knew her name." He glanced up at the Exile. "She sought _me_ out. Said she had come to save me. She was lying of course—or I think she was. It doesn't matter—she told enough truth to get my attention."

"About what?"

"She said that Revan was doing something terrible to Jedi in the Unknown Regions. That when we captured Jedi, they were sent to a place designed to… break them. And that anyone in her service who showed any ability in the Force was sent there, too, to turn them, to break them into Dark Jedi… or assassins trained to kill Jedi." He stared grimly ahead. "She said that's what would happen to me—that I had the Force inside me. That's why I was so good at killing Jedi. And that when the Sith learned of it, there would be no escape, no turning back. I would become an instrument of the dark side, forever. I had heard talk in the ranks, troops vanishing. I knew what she meant, but I didn't believe her—or _want_ to believe her."

"So what did you do?"

"I did what I did with all Jedi," he answered numbly meeting Nadira's gaze. "I hurt her. I hurt her a lot."

As she met his gaze she could taste the pain and regret he fought to hide. Keen and powerful, it touched her as though she and Atton had traded places. And as it assaulted him from within, she felt her heart break for him as much as it did for the Jedi he spoke of.

"And then, right when I thought she couldn't take anymore—she showed me the Force. In my head." He breathed heavily. "And I felt everything she felt, and I heard just an echo of what the Force was. And how what I was doing…" His voice trailed off, lips snapping shut to form a thin line as he hung his head. "I think I loved her," he breathed, "but it wasn't that kind of a love. It was the kind of love where you're willing to give up everything for someone you don't even know." His brow creased as he both understood his own words and didn't.

Nadira smiled sadly. "She _did_ want to save you. And I think she succeeded."

Atton scoffed, meeting her gaze in frustration. "You really think so? I killed her for crawling around inside my head, for showing me that," he snarled with a bitter tone before his defeat resurfaced. "Before she opened her mind to mine, my only thought was that I would love to kill her. And at the end, I killed her _because_ I loved her." He shook his head. "It wasn't possible—it couldn't be real! …And it scared me to think—to know—that it was." He rubbed a hand over his face. "In the end, she let me kill her, didn't even resist. She sacrificed herself to keep my secret, to prevent the Sith from knowing about that touch of the Force inside me. She wasted herself to save me. _Me_." It was almost the question he meant it to be. He paused as he felt Nadira's hand come to rest on his shoulder to comfort him. Her touch, both comforting and grieving, made it difficult for him to continue. "And I felt her die when she opened her mind. I've killed Jedi, like I said. But I was never there to feel it, to be on the receiving end. And after that, I couldn't _stop_ feeling things. Before, guilt, greed, impatience—it had all been orchestrated to get close. Now, it all just kept tumbling out—and I couldn't keep doing what I was doing. So I left. I fled with the displaced war veterans to Nar Shaddaa and I lost myself there until the war came to an end. I wanted no more of Jedi, or Dark Jedi, or the Force. I just wanted to be left alone." He looked over at Nadira and froze as their eyes met. "And then I met you on Peragus. And I thought maybe…" he took a breath slowly, "maybe she had saved me so that I could help you." She seemed frozen too as she listened to his words, just as entranced as he felt. "And if I can't, I still have to try." As he finished, he felt stronger than he had before they had begun talking about this, strangely encouraged at having shared his past with her.

She smiled at his determination. "I welcome your help," she replied without hesitation.

Atton scoffed as he thought back over their conversation. "I hadn't wanted to tell you any of this," he murmured almost to himself, then turned back to her. He couldn't believe how strongly he felt drawn to her, to help her, to trust her. And that feeling still unsettled him. "But… I had to. Because if something happens, I can't let you think that I was doing this for something other than the past."

She accepted his explanation with a nod. "Then let us both stand together against the Sith."

Fearing she might walk away, he grasped her arm to keep her attention. "Once, a Jedi showed me the Force—I heard it. I felt it. At the tim,e there was too much pain to confront it—because if I did, it meant I would be changed into something else." He took a cleansing breath. "Now, I'm not afraid of it anymore. And I think that by learning how to use it—I can help protect you. Or at least buy you some time when disaster comes screaming in. I want to learn how to use the Force." He hesitated a beat. "I want to learn how to use the Force to help you."

Nadira squeezed his shoulder, gratitude shining in her eyes. "I could teach you what I've learned. Though I'm not really a full Jedi," she warned him. "If we ever find the Council, they probably will not accept your training at my hands—"

"I'm not doing it for them," he said firmly. _I'm doing it for you_.

"Then I will train you," she agreed.

He nodded, then suddenly looked lost. "What should I do? Is there some…some ritual or…?"

"Close your eyes," Nadira answered with a reassuring smile, "and open your mind." Atton's eyes shut. "You must learn to feel the Force around you, to feel its currents, its eddies."

As Nadira guided Atton, her voice became more distant, like it was wading to him from the shores of a long forgotten dream. "Listen to the echo of your thoughts, your heart—separated from war, separated from hate…" He felt his heartbeat slow, and his senses stretching slowly outward, taking in less of the physical realm beings usually perceived to resonate in the life flow of the universe itself. "Think of what you felt when you felt the need to help me, to protect me…" Suddenly, his widened gaze began to focus and like a woven tapestry, he began to see the threads of connection between each being, the fibers connecting them all together. "…and at last Atton, awaken…" His senses rushed forward to where they were on Nar Shaddaa, seeing the binding of each life force, one to another, connecting beings that had never met, never even seen each other before. Those between friends, acquaintances, and relatives were stronger. The one between him and the Exile, burned like a solar flare, making the two of them almost inseparable. His eyes snapped open as he gasped at the rush of Force power.

Nadira steadied him, looking at him in concern. She had never seen anyone react like that before when they fully awakened to the Force. "Are you alright?" she asked, clearly worried.

"Yeah," he replied after a moment. Then he looked at her, as much surprised by his assertion as she evidently was. "Yes, I am."

)==(================

Atton pushed the memory away, bringing his mind back to his surroundings for the fifth time. He sat at the helm, trying to focus on the diagnostic he was running, but his thoughts kept wandering. He sighed heavily as he tried to shut out Nadira's emotions and the urge to search her out. His hands gripped the console tightly, knuckles white. He had to be strong, for both of them. This agony would pale compared to the despair he'd meet if he caused her death. The groaning sound of metal wrenched him back to his surroundings. Quickly, he let go of the console in front of him, shaking his head as he saw the dents he'd left in its surface.

Then he heard the hydraulics hiss as the door to the cockpit slid open. Sensing Mical behind him, he groaned inwardly. _Great, and I thought this day couldn't get any worse_. But the man maintained his façade otherwise.

"What have you done?" the Disciple demanded.

The pilot was surprised by his tone. Usually Mical was quiet, reserved and diplomatic by nature. Another glance through the Force revealed that he was seething with anger. Atton barely cast a glance backward. "What are you talking about?"

Mical's eyes narrowed further. "You _know_ what I'm talking about."

Atton bristled at this. He could barely tolerate this guy on the best of days. But if this simpering tag-along didn't watch it, he was going to finally push Atton beyond the limits of his patience. He stood slowly and turned to Mical, his face one of tight control. "No, why don't you enlighten me?"

On any other day, the Jedi student would have been frightened by Atton's tone and bearing. But he was too angry with him to care about how dangerously thin the ice was beneath him. "Nadira has locked herself in her room. Her pain is saturating the _Ebon Ha_wk. Even _you_ can't be so blind as to miss it!"

Atton didn't move. As he stood motionless, a flare in the Force was the only evidence Mical sensed of the pilot's rage. Then, Rand eased into a lean against the back of the chair. "Oh, that. Yeah, she's probably just moping about something. You know how moody she gets. But just because she's in a snit, what makes you think I had anything to do with it?" he replied.

"Kreia." Mical struggled to suppress his anger at the man's indifference.

Atton cursed inwardly. _Blasted scow!_ "Yeah, well, that witch can drop dead for all I care! Maybe _she_ did something to hurt Nadira. Did you ever think of that?"

"Nadira doesn't care what she thinks of her—she cares what _you_ think!" The Disciple stepped closer to Atton, getting in his face. "But we all know what you think of her, even if she cannot see it." His eyes lighted on the man in disgust.

Atton's eyes narrowed. "You don't know anything about me," he breathed darkly.

"More than you believe," Mical insisted. "From the moment I met you, I knew you were going to hurt her one way or another. She deserves respect, and you behave to her as you would to some woman you'd met in a cantina. You don't even have the decency to care that she's in pain. After all the compassion she has bestowed upon you, the least you could do is treat her with some. Why don't you save the Sith the trouble and knife her in the back now—"

Suddenly, he was on the floor, trying to clear his vision and find out what had happened. But Atton didn't wait for that, climbing down over him and punching him in the face again. And again. Mical tried to fight back, but Atton expertly blocked every blow. He was fast, and the Jedi was as taken aback by that as the physical trauma the man was inflicting on him now. He could smell and taste blood. His blood. The scene took on a surreal haze, his vision blurring and ears ringing before he heard a distant clamor and felt his attacker's weight lifting from his body. Two loud voices arguing—or at least they would have been loud if he could hear them over the ringing. One was enraged, probably Atton, the other angry too, but also confused and worried. Soon though, the voices sharpened enough for him to distinguish.

"What's going on here?" It was Bao-Dur.

"Mind your own business, Bao—this is between me and the kiss-up!"

"It's _my_ business now," the mechanic countered calmly, standing between the two. "You have more control than this. Use it." It was not a command, but guidance. Bao-Dur's and Atton's wills clashed for a moment. Then to Mical's astonishment, Atton relented, turning with a scowl and kicking the nearest console. This seemed to vent the last of his rage. Satisfied that Atton had reined himself in, Bao-Dur helped Mical to his feet. The two of them hobbled slowly off to med bay, leaving Atton alone.

The man focused on his body, willing his pulse and breath to slow. Grudgingly, they responded to his commands. _Yeah_, he scoffed, _I've conquered my demons_.

By the time Bao-Dur emerged from med bay, he found Atton waiting at the end of the hall. While he was surprised by the man's presence, he didn't give any outward sign. Their eyes met, but neither said a word.

Atton studied the Iridonian's face for a moment, searching for hints of disgust or recrimination, shocked to find neither. "So?"

"'So' what?"

_His tone is neutral too_. "Is the kid okay?"

Bao-Dur quirked an eyebrow at that. Mical was only a handful of years younger than Atton. But he supposed the description was apt given that Atton certainly had Mical beat in life experience. _Or… is it the other way around?_ "He'll be alright. It will take time to heal though. He couldn't heal all of the injuries you gave him with the Force—our marginal stores have already been depleted."

Atton didn't respond for a while. Bao-Dur didn't speak either, waiting for Rand to go first. If he wanted to speak, he would. Otherwise, he would not press him. His and Atton's personalities were similar in so many respects that the mechanic knew how his mind worked.

"I told Nadira I have to leave," the pilot murmured. "But you know how stubborn she is. I had to hurt her feelings just to get her to let me go. Apparently, her pet was mad at me for it." He jerked his head toward the med bay door.

Bao tilted his head. "Why do you need to leave?"

Atton scoffed incredulously. "'Why?' You drag me back from beating Mical to a bloody pulp and you can't figure out why?"

Again Bao-Dur waited. Atton's eyes fixed on the floor. "You saw what I did to him. What help can I be to you guys if I snap like that."

"You're afraid it will happen again."

Atton didn't reply. He didn't need to.

"Did you tell the General as much?"

Rand scoffed. "She thinks I'm better than that." He shook his head, rubbing his hand across his face.

"And you disagree?"

Atton's head snapped around to face Bao-Dur in disbelief. "You don't? After that spectacle?"

"Atton, if there's one thing men like you and I understand, it's control. Granted, you're no longer used to exercising it as often as you do now. Something like this takes time."

"We don't have time! What happens if you're not around to stop me again? What happens if someone dies?"

"You're stronger than that, whether you admit it to yourself or not. You couldn't have led the life you have and not mastered restraint. And my guess is that you haven't called forward the full measure you have at your disposal." He could guess why, but for Atton's sake, he would not voice his suspicions. "Only you can know your limits. Often we do not comprehend what they are until we cross them." He locked eyes with Atton. "I know you'll do what you have to do. All I would advise is to be certain you've given yourself an accurate evaluation before you do something that will hurt you both."

Atton absorbed Bao-Dur's words. After a moment, he walked past the mechanic, eyes distant as he moved down the corridor. When he reached the med bay door, he stepped inside.

Mical was sitting on the examination table, applying salve and bandages to his remaining wounds. He froze in the middle of binding his fractured ribs as Atton entered the room. Before he could speak, the pilot moved over to his side and grabbed his shoulder.

Mical tried to pull away but Atton didn't let go. "Atton what are you—" But his voice trailed off as the Force surged from Atton's grip. As it pulsed through him, the ache ebbed then abated altogether, his muscles relaxing. He gaped at Rand. There was no apology or friendliness in his gaze to explain his actions. If anything, he seemed as frustrated as he'd found him before their altercation.

Once he'd finished, Atton stalked off without a word. Only once he'd passed the threshold did Mical realize he had, in his confusion, forgotten to thank him. He was still furious with him for how he treated Nadira, but this turn was certainly not what he'd expected. Maybe Atton had been right about _one_ thing at least: he knew him less than he'd assumed.


	4. Awkward Exchanges and Warm Welcomes

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 4: Awkward Exchanges and Warm Welcomes**

The remainder of the journey to Onderon was awkward. Nadira had remained sequestered in her room until Mira broke in, demanding to know what was wrong. While frustrated at the intrusion, the Exile knew Mira was only trying to help. Fortunately by that time, she'd regained enough of her composure to feign weariness, which was not _entirely_ a lie. Mira seemed unconvinced, but eventually gave up pressing Nadira when it proved futile. That was good news for the Exile. Bad news for the rest of the crew, who she interrogated mercilessly.

By the time they reached Onderon, everyone was going stir crazy. Nadira knew if they didn't get planetside soon, they were either going to kill Mira or start tearing through the hull with their bare hands.

After hitting the refresher, she headed to the cockpit, summoning her will around her like a shield. Once she went through that door, it would be her first encounter with him since their discussion. She'd been careful not to run into Atton again, afraid she wouldn't have the strength to resist asking him to stay. She pulled her stone mask back on. She wouldn't sacrifice his well-being for her own selfish wants.

Calmly, she entered the cockpit and was surprised to find Kreia already there too. Atton had fixed the older woman with a smoldering glare, his opponent seeming either not to notice or not to care. Either way, Nadira wasn't concerned about the scene that greeted her—it was the perfect depiction of the regard they held for each other. If she hadn't been so torn to see Atton, she might even have laughed at the cold war they waged. But she slid into the copilot's seat.

"Are we close?"

"Yeah," Atton replied in a low tone. His voice suggested he was still trying to rein in his anger at Kreia. Whatever she'd said had really gotten to him. "Should be hitting real space any time now." Shutting out Kreia's existence, he settled into the pilot's seat and focused on preparing for landing.

As if on cue, the _Ebon Hawk_ dropped out of lightspeed and Atton steered for the planet. But as they approached, their senses flared. A swarm of ships was hovering over Onderon, some buzzing restlessly in and out of space lanes, others hung immobilized as if waiting.

Nadira's muscles tensed, misgivings stirring inside her as she studied the sight. "No one's landing."

"You _think_?" Atton retorted. "This is not good. I have a bad feeling about this."

"Under normal circumstances, the choked routes make this space port inaccessible. Onderon is a world full of resources after all in a war-ravaged galaxy. Many come to leech off its life force in one form or another. Now they hang like carrion birds, watching closely, waiting for their starved prey to die," Kreia intoned in her usual cryptic manner. "But these are not normal circumstances that greet us. The Force ripples warnings, and today…_we_ are the prey."

"If you don't keep your pep talks to yourself, I'll—" But Atton's heated words were cut short as the communications console chimed.

"The _Ebon Hawk_," a calm authoritative voice sounded. "I was told to expect your arrival. I don't know your business on Onderon, but it ends here." An ominous click sounded the end of his transmission.

As the cockpit was swallowed in silence, Nadira's hands instinctively flew across the controls.

Atton jumped, startled as the ship accelerated. "What are you—" But two squadrons flying towards them, red energy bolts closing the distance between them claimed his full attention. Grabbing the controls, he tried to dive the _Hawk_, but they took the first hit. "Who's the pilot here?" he shouted angrily at the Exile as her commands conflicted with his. "Get in that turret and hold them off while I get us out of here!"

She jumped up and tore out of the cockpit. As Atton threaded in and out of enemy fire, her skillful aim laced the sky around the opposing snub fighters, driving them back one by one. He fought the _Hawk_ as it pitched obstinately from the damage they'd sustained. "I'm losing control. We need to set down soon or we'll be sitting ducks. Where do you want me to go?" he spoke into the comm.

Only silence greeted him.

"Nadira! What are your orders?"

"The moon," she replied, her tone strange. "Head for the moon."

Immediately, Atton banked, weaving in and out of ships, orchestrating chaos as he danced within meters of waiting freighters. Eventually others were drawn into the fight. Using them as a distraction, he dove behind the largest transport till they had lost all pursuit. Then, he broke for the distant moon.

The small world beneath was a lush, verdant jungle that threatened to swallow any and everything it deemed not its own. And despite the tropical climate, the moon emanated a primal darkness, roiling across the surface as though the moon itself was malevolent, feeding on the light. Despite apprehensions coursing through him, Atton set down in the first clearing on the far side.

As the ship settled, he grumbled in frustration. "Remind me to give Onderon a commendation for the warmth of their welcoming committees."

"How bad is the damage?" Nadira asked as she re-entered the cockpit.

"Well, we won't explode for the moment," he answered hotly. "But I can't make any promises if we don't repair it before we take off again. Hey, next time, leave the piloting to me."

"You are fortunate her reflexes are so honed," Kreia interjected. "If she had not acted when she had, the blast would have shattered the viewport and you would have been sucked into space." She pointed a withered finger to his unsecured harness, straps hanging uselessly from the chair. "Even I did not see the danger before she did. Though I doubt I would have done anything about it," she finished, indifferent.

"Kreia!" Nadira hissed disapprovingly.

"If he insists upon doing something so foolish, we cannot stop him. But he must be made aware of the consequences of his actions."

"Kreia, enough!" Silence fell and Nadira turned back to Atton. "How long will repairs take?"

"I'll be glad to return the favor when my turn comes 'round, you old hag," he snapped at Kreia as he turned to the displays, assessing their condition. "It'll take some time." His eyes scanned the strobing alerts, each flashing icon contending for the pilot's attention. "The aft stabilizers and deflector shield generator will need to be replaced. He swiveled the chair back around again. "And we don't have the parts."

"We can search the moon's surface for wreckage," Kreia proposed. "No doubt one of the many downed ships will have what we need. And if not, we can search the military outposts."

"What makes you think you're going to find any of that in this jungle?" Atton asked.

Kreia, however, turned to the Exile. "We may also find another means of transport to Onderon in the forests. The Force has guided us here for a reason. Either way, we would do well to explore our surroundings. There is…something here."

Atton almost cut in, infuriated at how Kreia had ignored him. But his words died on his tongue as he caught Nadira's expression. At Kreia's suggestion, her countenance fell. It was a subtle change, but at odds with to her usual calm and confident presence, it seemed now like she withered before him. The light in her eyes, changing their azurite hue to a despondent slate. The angle of her shoulders slumped if only by a few degrees. And her mouth tightened into a thin line.

"I was afraid you'd say that," she breathed. Turning, she strode away to prepare for the task.

Atton watched her go in confusion, then turned to Kreia. She faced Rand with a pointed expression. Despite the hood drawn down to hide her blind eyes, Atton could almost feel their keen power boring into him.

"I have a feeling the ship will not be repaired until our business here is concluded. Do I make myself clear?"

The pilot's fists clenched, bristling at the power this Jedi witch held over him. "Yeah… I understand," he hissed, bitter venom dripping from his words. "What's so important about this place? What do you expect to find? Why does she have to go?"

"There are things here she must see."

"What sort of things?" _If she gives me one more cryptic reply, I'm gonna throttle her!_

"Are you blind? Surely, you saw the canyons and craters as we landed here. Did you believe they were formed naturally? They were caused by the battle fought overhead, by ships plummeting to the earth beneath, by missiles and explosives triggered to obliterate enemy strongholds. This is Dxun. This is where the Mandalorian Wars began. She fought here."

"Dxun?" Atton's face hardened in dark realization. He glanced briefly down the corridor Nadira had taken. "She fought here? Why didn't she say anything?"

The old woman chuckled and shook her head as though she were dealing with a particularly dense child. "Do you speak of all your battles? Or are there some you wish to forget?"

Atton remained silent on that point even as Kreia walked out the door. He mulled over these new revelations in silence for a while, then growled under his breath. "Hate it when that old scow has a point!"


	5. The Primal Darkness

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 5: The Primal Darkness**

Atton began to assess the extent of the damage. He was in the process of rewiring the controls for the fore and aft sensor arrays when a pair of boots entered his field of vision. He crawled out from under the consoles, disentangling himself from the wires. "Come to interrogate me again?" he asked Mira testily.

"No." The young bounty hunter rolled her eyes. She shook her flame-red hair out of her face as she placed her hands on her hips. "I came to tell you Nadira's called a meeting before she heads out."

"Yeah, well, I don't do meetings. I'm busy fixing the ship so we can get out of here before our friends find us again. So you enjoy your little get-together." He turned, grabbing a rag to wipe the grease off his hands before he got at it again. He dropped it though with a yelp as Mira twisted his ear mercilessly.

"I'm sorry," she intoned with mock-politeness. "Did I say your attendance was optional? Nadira said 'everybody', dorkwad."

She unceremoniously dragged the unwilling pilot out of the cockpit. Atton cursed and flailed at her, but she would not relinquish her grasp until they entered the hold.

"I'm not two, you know!" he snapped at her, trying desperately to bend his ear back into its original shape.

"Then don't act like it," Mira retorted. She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe, guaranteeing he couldn't sneak back to the cockpit till Nadira had finished.

It had taken all of Nadira's self control not to burst out laughing at the sight of Atton being "escorted" to the briefing. Now he was brooding irritably. Taking a deep breath, the Jedi brought her attention back to the matter at hand.

"Now that we're all here," she began, earning a derisive snort from her pilot, "I'm going to do a reconnaissance of the surrounding area while repairs are made on the ship. Atton and Bao-Dur, you guys will stay behind and patch up the _Hawk_. Mical, Mira, I'd like you to accompany me. Not only are we gathering information about our surroundings, we also need to keep an eye out for spare parts to replace what can't be repaired. Mira you're the best with demolitions—I'll need your help to extract the parts without damaging them." She chuckled. "I won't risk stranding us here by attempting it myself. We'll also be looking for an alternate route to Onderon. Given their… warm reception, the traditional approach isn't going to cut it. We need to slip in under the radar so we don't get shot at again.

"The rest of you, secure the ship. This moon has its own dangers: plant, animal and sentient. We will be considered hostile by the indigenous lifeforms here, and Dxun does _not_ welcome intruders. Plus our friends in the Onderon military will eventually come looking for us, and it won't take them long to figure out where we've gone. Defend the ship and each other, but do _not_ initiate combat. I don't know who's pulling their strings, but they're being played as much as we are. If they attack first, defend yourselves, but do not provoke them." She pointedly met each gaze as she spoke, making certain they understood her instructions. "Any questions?"

No one spoke.

"Okay. Mical, Mira, we leave in ten minutes."

As everyone began to disperse, Mira leaned down to Atton. "See that wasn't so painful, now was it?"

Atton balled his fists as he rose to his feet, looking as though he were about to say something. But he stormed off to the cockpit instead. Mira wasn't far behind.

"What's gotten you in such a foul mood?" she asked.

"Look, I'm not exactly happy with you right now, twerp. So you might wanna stay clear of me till I get my temper under control."

But Mira wasn't concerned in the least. "Just what do you have to hide?"

"Don't you have a mission to prep for?"

"Nope, I'm ready. Have been since we landed."

"Then go find someone else to bother!"

"You see I've been wondering about something…"

"Don't work on it too hard—your brain'll explode."

"…you have much better demolition skills than I do."

Atton kept working flawlessly, as though he hadn't even heard her observation.

"So then, why am I going on this run and not you?"

"Maybe she knows how much you've irritated everyone with pointless questions and that you'd be dead before she got back."

Mira grinned. "I lied, you know."

"About what?" Atton growled without turning, focused on the conduit he was rewiring.

"Nadira didn't tell me to make sure everyone was at the meeting. She was fine to let you sit it out."

"What?!" Atton whirled, ignoring the electrical burns he almost gave himself. "Who do you think you are, toying around with me?!"

"I knew something was up! You're the reason she had a meltdown on the way here."

"Why does everyone assume it's me?"

Mira tilted her head in disbelief. "Seriously? That's the best argument you got?"

"This conversation is over," Atton said firmly, eyes narrowed. "I don't have to answer to you!"

"If you hurt her, you better believe you will," she answered, eyes just as hard.

Atton kept his back turned until he heard her steps fade away into the ship. When he heard them return, he growled. "I said 'go away!' I'm not talking to you."

"Okay?" It was Nadira.

Atton spun, his expression instantly apologetic. "Nadira, I didn't—uh…" He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "Sorry I thought you were Mira."

Nadira turned back to Atton. "Man, she must have really gotten under your skin."

The pilot groaned. "She has a knack for that. So what you need?"

"I came to get the specs on the parts we need to replace."

Atton nodded, taking the datapad Nadira held out to him. He punched in the schematics and holovids so she could easily identify them, then handed the pad back to her. "There you go. All set."

"Thanks," she nodded her gratitude, carefully avoiding his gaze. "See you when we get back." She turned to leave.

"Nadira," he called to her before she could pass the threshold. She paused, barely hesitating before turning to face him again, but he still noticed it. "About before, when you started flying the ship while we were under fire…"

"—I'm sorry. It won't happen again—"

"Thank you," he said quietly, "for saving my life."

Nadira's eyes shot up in surprise and met his for the first time in a while. "Of course. I'm glad it worked…" her voice trailed off. Then suddenly she turned and sprinted down the corridor. "See you when we get back," she called back over her shoulder.

He swallowed hard as he watched her go, then turned back to the console. But while his eyes scanned the wires laying in a tangled mass before him, he saw none of it.

Nadira met her companions at the exit ramp. Lowering it, she turned to Mical and Mira. "You two ready to go?"

"All set," Mira answered, idly twirling her blaster. She shoved it back into its holster and strolled down the ramp apace.

Mical was glancing at Nadira uncertainly. The Exile could tell from his expression that he wanted to say something, but that desire battled a second instinct that told him to stay silent. For a moment or two she watched the struggle behind his eyes before taking the initiative.

"Mical? Are you alright?"

As he met her questioning gaze, his resolve crystallized. "Actually, I've wanted to ask you the same thing." When her head tilted in confusion, he explained, "You seemed to be a bit…discouraged on the journey here…"

Nadira bit back a wince, nodding instead.

"…I know it's not my business, but I was concerned." He fell silent, tentatively giving her room to speak if she wanted.

"It's been a long journey since I returned, and it's not over yet." She paused. "I think it's just wearing me down—going from exile to non-stop chaos."

Mical nodded, though she suspected less in belief than in acceptance. "Such a change _is_ difficult, far beyond my comprehension I realize. But if you ever need to talk to someone about the trials you are facing, I wanted you to know I'd be there for you."

She smiled in gratitude. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," he said, then turned to head down the ramp.

Inwardly, Nadira sighed. She appreciated Mical's offer, but she knew she could never tell him. It was bewildering enough to admit to herself, let alone articulate to someone else.

She quickly put that from her mind though as she was confronted with another problem. She'd followed Mical to join Mira waiting at the foot of the ramp, but paused as she reached the rim. Nadira stared down at the overgrown grass as though it was her enemy. While not the complete answer to his question, Nadira's response to Mical about the troubles she faced in transition from exile was completely true. Life on the edge of the galaxy was numbing, like living between waking and nightmare. Then emerging from the void into the vortex of their current storm, their travels mercilessly led her to planets wounded deepest by the war. _My war_, she thought bitterly.

Every world she set foot on seared through her, igniting agony as fresh as the day she'd last been there. Each planet she'd explored forced her to relive every physical pain and horrifying memory she'd forged, endured, or survived there. And Dxun would be the hardest yet. This moon, where she'd lost half the Jedi and soldiers under her command, feeling each one's death as keenly as her own.

And now, she'd live it again.

She fought the impulse to run and hide in the ship. She had desperately wanted Atton to go with her here. But she couldn't ask that of him—not after what he'd told her. And she couldn't sacrifice his life and the fate of the galaxy to avoid facing her past. Steeling herself, she stepped off the ramp.

The moment her foot hit the grass, she stumbled, barely catching her balance in time. Both Mical and Mira rushed over to steady her, but she waved them off.

"I'm okay," she lied, walking with a stiff but steady gait past them.

As she did, her two friends exchanged a worried glance.

"What was that all about?" Mira asked the Disciple quietly. "It's not like her to lose her footing."

"I don't know. It's never happened before... not that I've seen," he answered. But the two followed her away from the _Ebon Hawk_, watching her back for any attacks...and watching _her_ for any more missteps.

As they moved across the clearing, Atton's eyes followed the Exile through the viewport until she disappeared through the treeline.

After 1st Half of Missions on Dxun Are Completed…

The trio walked through the canyon heading back to the ship. They had spent most of the trip in silence before it was broken.

"Well, this has been an interesting turn of events," Mical voiced his thoughts as they made their way.

"Heh, no kidding," Nadira agreed, using the Force to push the parts for the _Hawk_ before them. "Look, I don't want either of you to tell anyone about our new allies until I've had a chance to tell the crew myself."

Mira groaned, but Mical turned to his mentor. "You wish to keep your dealings with Mandalore a secret?"

Nadira could hear both respect and concern in his tone. "No," she assured him. "But there are some matters I would address before making the knowledge public. And I want them to hear it from me, to know why I did it and that I did not make this decision lightly." _Especially Bao-Dur_, she sighed inwardly. _He won't be too happy about this_.

Mical nodded. "Do you believe we can trust him?"

She thought a moment before replying. "Yes. Being both a Mandalorian and the leader of his people, his honor would not allow himself to remain indebted to a Jedi." It was a solid answer she felt, though it was not her sole reason. Nadira marveled as she remembered her conversation with Mandalore. One thing she was convinced of: the man was no fool. _Heh, he couldn't be to have won the mantle of "Mandalore." And if _she_ trusts him…_

Nadira fell to her knees as the earth pitched beneath her. The Exile brought her focus to their surroundings. The jungle was shuddering from the ripples of the Dark side. Its power had ruled the moon since Dxun was scarred in the war. Its currents that ran constantly beneath the surface churned further still from the void the Sith had carved into the galaxy. But now, some unseen force had fed its sinister stirrings, manifesting deadly results as the volatile temperament of Dxun ignited into havoc.

The gorge continued to shake, dirt and rocks pelting the landscape around them. The three picked themselves off the ground. Nadira dropped the parts and turned on her heel.

"Run!" she shouted over the din, gesturing back the way they came. Her friends needed little prompting, obeying the command readily. She followed, ensuring neither fell behind. They weren't far into the canyon—if they could clear it in time, they'd be safe.

The raining debris grew in size and weight. They raced an obstacle course of ever shifting terrain, four new handicaps every other second. In place of a crowd to cheer them on, the stone walls towering over them roared to hurry their pace, the impacts of falling rock mimicking applause. Nadira watched with dread the ever-narrowing entrance ahead of them. She reached deeper into the Force to speed them on. _So close…_

They wove through the chasm, running for broke. As they neared the end of the gorge, the vista ahead widened. But with startling clarity, the Exile realized they weren't going to make it. Panicked, she raised her hand, catapulting her companions forward before a wall of stone hid them from sight.

Arresting her momentum, her chest constricted momentarily, uncertain they had cleared the landslide in time. Barely avoiding a near-miss, her survival training took control. She couldn't help them if she died here. Cut off from escape, she turned back, left with no other option but to make a run for the far end. She danced between falling rocks with as much grace as she could manage in the thickening downpour. She barely slowed her step to dodge a boulder the size of a young rancor. But its fellows caught her in their wake, throwing the Exile to the ground under their assault. She fought to regain her footing, but one connected with her head, staggering pain plunging her world into the abyss.


	6. Inner Demons

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 6: Inner Demons**

Atton shot to his feet, heart pounding in his ears.

"Atton?" Bao-Dur asked. "What's wrong?" He looked up at Rand who had been working with him to try to salvage a battered sensor array but now was suddenly poised for battle.

The pilot distantly heard—and didn't—the mechanic's concerned inquiries. He stretched out with his senses.

"I can't feel her anymore," he breathed.

"What?"

But Atton was already moving, snatching up his weapons belt as he raced out of the garage and down the ramp. His stride didn't falter, planting his feet firmly on the ground and tearing into the jungle. Dark energies swirled around him, powerful tendrils reaching from the vengeful moon to ensnare him. But he paid them no heed, his mind focused on only one thing: getting to her.

The pilot left the clearing in the direction he'd seen her leave. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. He hadn't worried about how long Nadira and the others had been gone. The crash sites were strewn over the moon's vast terrain. They wouldn't have returned quickly with the parts they needed. And he had been able to contact her on the link occasionally. She was fine, he'd reminded himself. If they ran into anything they couldn't handle, he would feel it.

He felt it now.

Drawing the lightsaber she'd given him, he neatly sliced through the trees that had fallen to block the path. The blade steamed in the rain that continued to fall. The pilot cursed angrily when he nearly slipped in the mud. But he pressed on, more careful of his footing now. He chafed at the time it took for him to make it across the rugged terrain till at last he drew up in front of a gorge cut into the steep incline. The sheer rock walls on either side stretched high above, threatening treachery with the way they groaned. And the path it carved between was littered with rubble. At least what his vision could make out through the mist-soaked shadows. But she went this way—he could hear her steps still echoing in the Force. This was his road if he hoped to reach her. Taking a deep breath, he walked quickly through, keeping his senses alert. But it wasn't just the unsteady cliffs that concerned him. The Dark side pulsed here with a surprising strength.

He paused about midway through the canyon as he saw a dark pile that glinted as he drew near, reflecting his lightsaber. As he got closer, he saw parts from a ship lying in the mud. He examined the connections and found what he was looking for: precise cuts from a shearing blade. These must be the parts they'd retrieved to fix the engine. Nadira and the others wouldn't have just left them here. _Unless they had to…_

He rose to his feet and stretched out with his senses. He could feel her faintly, but only just. She was close, but the darkness was growing stronger, clouding his perception. _That or she was…_ He stamped the thought out before it had time to finish and turned slowly, eyes straining to pierce the gloom.

Soon, he found the source of the powerful darkness rising to claim this chasm. Over near some fallen boulders and other debris, the shadows pulsed—thick, unnaturally cold, and ravenous. Dark Energy terrain. He knew it even before he discerned the threads of purple lightning surging across the ground where it lay. These areas on worlds across the galaxy pulsed with the Dark side of the Force, saturated with its power as if a local, physical manifestation…he shuddered…more like _infestation_—of its presence, tempting the most devout Jedi, empowering the most zealous Sith. Places like these were a cancer to Force-users, one with the most deadly of consequences. He'd seen them before as a Sith, even used them on occasion to break particularly stubborn Jedi. These footholds of the Dark side had terrible power that fed on the light until there was nothing left to sate its hunger. Only the strongest Force users had the will power to survive it, and none ever left it unchanged.

He had just decided to steer clear of this region till its power dissipated when he noticed something at its center. His breath fled him as he recognized the battered form. "Nadira!" Rushing over to her, he knelt by her side.

He checked her pulse, sighing in relief to find it steady albeit weak. Pinned beneath the weight of several rocks, she was sprawled face-first on the ground. Her robe was torn, her pale face and auburn hair covered in mud, hiding her so effectively from sight. Rain poured down over the boulders, saturating the ground beneath her. The only thing that had saved her from drowning in a puddle was the boulder she'd been thrown onto before being trapped. Her legs weren't even visible, disappearing beneath the pile of stone, turf, and mangled plant life. Shedding his jacket immediately, he wove his arm under her. Gently, he tried to raise her enough to place it underneath her, but a pained whimper escaped her lips. Atton froze, running his hands carefully along her sides. He cursed when he found she'd broken a few ribs and probably fractured others. Laying her back down, he pulled her hair away from her face. As the rain began to wash some of the mud away, he saw a bruise surfacing over her left cheekbone. He closed his eyes. "Hold on Nadira," he whispered. "I'll get you out of there."

He lifted his gaze to the moderate heap holding her captive, standing just before a surge of Force lighting threw him back against the canyon wall.

"You can't have her, Rand. I'm not through with your friend yet. You'll just have to wait your turn to play with her."

Atton's blood froze. He knew that voice, the voice that haunted him in his darkest moments. His voice and yet not his own—not anymore. He looked up, horrified to stare back at his mirror image, only the intruder sported a black uniform and sinister yellow eyes. His expression epitomized the corruption of Atton's cocky impulsive nature—a vibroblade-edge to the sadistic mischief dancing in his eyes. The pilot faced his Sith-self in dread. "You're not real."

"Forgotten me already, 'Atton'?" the other purred. "Even after dogging your every step? I'm hurt. You had so much potential and you had to go and throw it all away."

"I'm not like that anymore."

"Oh please. You _are_ me! You can never escape Jaq or our past. And you're kidding yourself to believe any different." Jaq motioned back to Nadira. "No matter what she says, you'll always be a murderer. And why not? They're Jedi! They deserve to die for the slaughter they allowed!"

"She's not like that! She fought the Mandalorians!"

Jaq's head tilted. "Then she had an angle. You know their kind. Don't you want to know the truth behind why she tries to keep you with her?"

The dark figure's words struck a chord in the pilot. He had often wondered what she saw in him, at first suspicious of her partiality. It had to be some ulterior motive of hers, otherwise why keep him around? But as he'd seen her throughout their missions, it was clear that she truly believed the ideals the Jedi were supposed to stand for. Even his disillusionment and bitterness for Jedi couldn't group her in with those he'd hated before.

"She's just that naïve," Atton tried to shrug it off.

"Is she?" Jaq pressed. "How naïve can she be after fighting the Mandalorian War and then surviving a decade of exile, facing the dangers of the Rim alone?" His wary eyes pinned Atton. "She's hiding something and you know it."

"Maybe but it's not like that."

"What else could it be? She's using you. And every moment you spend with her is playing into her hand." He edged closer. "But you can get her before she turns on you. You can force the truth out of her. She'll be a challenge to break but that will be half the fun—"

Atton shoved the man back from him, shaking in rage at his words. "I'd sooner suffer it myself!" he spat.

Jaq's nostrils flared. "A decade ago you would have ripped the truth out of her and relished her every scream. And now you've become her apprentice?" The Sith sneered in disgust. "Oh well. Guess I'll have to finish where you left off." His eyes glinted as he stalked over to the fallen Jedi.

Atton stared after Jaq with dark understanding. He was a manifestation of the Dark side's presence here. And _she_ was why he had come. He had come to feed on her.

"No!" He ignited his saber and dove between Jaq and Nadira.

Jaq's eyes narrowed. "You'd willingly be her puppet?! She's manipulating you. You think you can trust her, but she's no different than the others. You've heard her master's instructions: to use her allies then cast them aside when they've served their purpose. Even if she doesn't buy it now, how long till that takes hold?"

"You're not going to touch her," Atton breathed in warning. His shoulders were set, jaw tight in determination. He would not be moved. He would only yield in death, and Jaq would not come by it easily.

Jaq seemed to perceive this and smiled amiably. "Is that so? I hope she appreciates your sacrifice on her behalf, however futile it is. I'll be sure to tell her how you died before I end her misery."

The Sith's saber flared an inch from Atton's face. He barely got his own up in time to deflect the blow. The raw power of Jaq's swing traveled down his arm, jarring every bone in his frame. Though, he hardly had time to recover from the physical shock before the red blade flew at him again. The doppelganger's attacks were relentless, coming at him in a flurry, leaving a scarlet haze in its wake. Atton had only begun lightsaber training a month and a half ago, after he'd confessed his past to Nadira on Nar Shaddaa. While he was a quick learner, he was far from mastering this form of combat. Jaq apparently did not face the same dilemma. Whatever darkness fed this moon had bestowed the shadow-foe with the proficiency of a Knight, if not a Master.

Drawing on every ounce of skill he had, Atton's blue blade blurred as he struggled to keep one step ahead of Jaq's deadly assault. The brilliant barrage of saber blows came at him from every conceivable angle, and it was all Atton could do to simply block his attacks. But he had a few tricks Nadira had taught him that Jaq wouldn't have up his sleeve.

Using his agility in his favor, he rolled out of Jaq's reach and threw a Force push at his leg. This threw Jaq's balance off. The Sith was quick to recover but this bought Atton a few seconds to pull his Force defenses into place. He drew closer to Jaq letting his lightsaber move of its own accord, giving himself to the Force.

As he tried to move inside his defenses, Jaq locked blades with him. "You're pathetic attempts aren't going to save her," he crowed. "My power eclipses yours tenfold, weakling. I'm gonna take you apart. But don't worry I'll let you live just long enough to watch what I have in store for Nadira."

But Jaq gasped as Atton's fist connected with his chest, transmitting Force lightning into the Sith's torso along with the physical impact of the punch. Pressing his advantage, Atton combined his Echani training with his new lightsaber technique, utilizing every ounce of strength he possessed to defeat the darkness in himself. "Hard to threaten when you can't breathe, isn't it?" he taunted Jaq.

Desperate to recover, Jaq used a Force wave to throw Atton back. Rand quickly regained his feet, but froze when he saw Jaq's blood-red beam an inch from Nadira's exposed throat. The man's malicious gaze met his own. "Game over, 'Atton.' You lose."

But in that second, Jaq's lightsaber exploded in his hand. Reeling from the pain, he never saw Atton's approach or how easily the man broke through his defenses to deliver the killing blow. "Don't bet on it, Jaq," Atton breathed. Their eyes locked for a second before Jaq's rolled back into his head and his body collapsed to the ground. After a second, the corpse dissolved into the mist.

Atton fell to his knees beside Nadira, out of breath, trying to ease his pulse. He steadied his breathing, relief washing over him that his tactic to fuse the power conduits in Jaq's lightsaber had actually worked. Weary, he rested his hand gently on top of hers for a moment. Then, he gasped in surprise when she weakly clasped it back. He faced her. She was still unconscious, but her hand had latched onto his. Tightening his grasp, he rose again trying to figure out how to get to her. He grimaced. "Hang on—this isn't gonna be fun. For either of us."

He braced himself, exerting his Force powers to lift the rocks from over her, one at a time. Nadira groaned weakly as the weight change allowed her battered body to shift. At length, he'd cleared them all away, revealing more of Exile's injuries. Her legs were clearly broken, not to mention countless contusions and abrasions.

Atton knelt and placed a hand on the back of Nadira's neck. Closing his eyes, he willed her body to mend. Once her labored breathing leveled out, he tested her ribs again. While she hissed at his touch, the breaks were already beginning to knit. As he gingerly pulled her into his arms, she moaned wearily. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "but I need to get you out of here." Cradling her against his chest, he used the contact to continue healing her. He had to get her back to the ship. Mical was the medic, not him. Rand was an expert with basic first aid, but he couldn't tell how much internal damage she'd sustained. "It's gonna be alright," he murmured as he rested his cheek on her head. "I'm here. I'm not going to leave you. You're gonna be okay."

He started as his cheek brushed her forehead. The rain had soaked her to the core, and her body temperature was very low. Too low. Trying to warm herself, Nadira pulled closer to Atton in her sleep. He began to rub her arm to stave off the cold. _I've gotta get her out of this rain_, he thought to himself as he picked the Exile up in his arms and rose to his feet.

But as the ground trembled, Atton's head whipped around. The cliffs were swaying again. He cursed under his breath, realization hitting him. "Stupid aftershock!" He carried her from the canyon before the damaged walls broke down completely, making it out just in time for the gorge to disappear behind in a cloud of dirt. "This is the last time we visit one of your old stomping grounds," he growled to the unconscious Jedi in his arms. Fighting his weariness, he made his way back to the _Ebon Hawk_ as quickly as he could. If she was bleeding internally, that blonde twit of a Jedi might be her only hope to survive.

Before he reached the ship, he heard a call. Glancing over his shoulder briefly, he saw Mical and Mira running towards him. Mical fixed Atton in a suspicious glare. "What are you doing here?" he asked in disgust. "I thought you were supposed to be repairing the ship."

Atton's eyes narrowed and he turned around fully so they could see Nadira—and the condition she was in. "No time for pleasantries. We have a bit of an emergency on our hands."

As soon as Mical saw her, his expression changed dramatically from irritation to worry.

"Your healing ability's more advanced than mine," Rand finished. There were other comments he wanted to make but they'd have to wait till she was safe.

Mical nodded. "We have to get her to the ship." The three ran back to the _Hawk_. Atton followed Mical to the med bay while Mira waited outside, pacing restlessly in her concern.

After carefully laying her down on the table, Rand stepped back into the corner to get out of the Disciple's way. He watched the examination in silence. Mical looked up once and thought about asking him to leave, but thought better of it when he saw a glimmer of fear in Atton's eyes. Returning to his work, he focused on Nadira. "She has several fractures, but many of the breaks are healing already." He glanced up at Atton again, impressed.

Preoccupied, Atton didn't even notice. "She had several broken and fractured ribs when I found her. Legs're broken too."

"How badly was she pinned?"

"Pretty bad. She wouldn't have been able to get out of there by herself. She's lucky she didn't get buried by one of the bigger piles. Even the landslide that caught her was over a meter high by the time I got there. The only thing that saved her at all was that she must have been at the edge of it when she got knocked out."

"We'll need to set her legs. I'll need your help for that."

Atton turned to meet Mical's gaze for the first time since they returned to the ship.

"I need you to help support her while I set the breaks," he clarified.

At length, Atton nodded and moved closer to her bed side. Sitting on the edge, he eased her up into a sitting position. He leaned her back against his chest, restraining her arms and torso carefully. Nadira gasped shrilly as Mical worked, jerking against Atton's hold in pain, but the pilot held her fast. "It's gonna be okay," he whispered. "You're safe now." Once it was over, she fell limp, and he held her like that for a while. After he felt her muscles relax, he lowered her back to the table again. His body heat had warmed her. Now, she shivered as the cold metal chilled her skin. Atton frowned. "Someone should change her out of these wet clothes."

Now Mical frowned. "If this is your crude way of volunteering—"

But Atton turned on him. "I don't care _who_ you get to do it as long as it gets done," he snapped. He quieted again as he turned back to the Exile. "It'd be pointless trying to save her from injury only to lose her to illness." Her soaked hair was plastered to her forehead. Reaching out, he drew the damp locks away from her face. He felt the Disciple's eyes on him, and his cheeks burned. "Let me know how it turns out," he ordered curtly as he forced himself to walk out of med bay.

Mical watched him go, astonished at his actions. Stepping out into the corridor, Mical asked Mira to change Nadira into a dry tunic. As she worked, he exchanged his outer robe for one that wouldn't drip on his patient while he worked. By the time he returned, Mira had finished. While he continued his healing ministrations for the Jedi, he used the Force to see what Atton was doing. This man confused him greatly. He was completely unreadable, violent and impulsive one moment, almost compassionate the next…in his own abrupt manner.

Atton was in the cockpit pacing, but every few seconds, he felt the pilot reach out to sense what was going on in med bay. Mical shook his head as he refocused his attentions on Nadira. "You have the strangest taste in friends," he murmured to his unconscious master. She did not answer, and he sighed in concern. She should have woken by now and the fact that she hadn't troubled him greatly.

At length, he'd done all he could and reported to Atton as the man had asked. _Ordered really_, he sighed inwardly. Atton had received his news with albeit polite disinterest. But when Mical returned to med bay after reporting her health to the rest of the crew, he found the man by Nadira's bedside, asleep with his head resting on the examination table next to hers. As he studied the unconscious pair, the reactions stirring within him conflicted. First was anger at the pilot. His unpredictable moods caused his master a great deal of pain and doubt. The Disciple had been certain he was just toying with her, no doubt for sordid reasons of his own. Then a realization struck him. Nadira was asleep—there was no need for Atton to keep up his pretenses, however feeble, of caring for her now. But he remembered the fear in Atton's eyes from before. What if the fear was real? Fear for her safety, of what could happen? As he looked back, he began to realize that all of Atton's actions were consistent with that quality. He feared _himself_. He doubted himself. Or at least in regards to Nadira. He was pushing her away. He didn't want her close even though he desperately desired it. The double claim on his heart—his hope against his better judgment, his emotions pitted against his logic—was the war he waged. In this light, everything else made sense. It seemed one possible explanation, anyway.

Eyes narrowing, he resolved to watch him closely to see if his behavior was genuine. Because regardless of the man's feelings for her, he would not let him toy with her affections whether consciously done or not. There was too much at stake. And he would not let him break her heart.

Noiselessly, he left the room, allowing them both to sleep in peace. Atton had saved her life at great risk to his own—he could not dispute that. After all the Force energy the pilot had given her, he was surprised Atton'd remained conscious let alone had enough strength to carry her all the way back to the _Hawk_. He owed him for that much at least.


	7. Coming Around

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 7: Coming Around**

Nadira opened her eyes slowly. As she did, the reality of Dxun came rushing back at her. It was not as severe without having physical contact with the planet, but even here on the ship she could not fully escape its oppression. At the assault of the past, she drew a sharp intake of air, pulling her barriers up as quickly as she could.

Still sleeping at her side, the sudden sound roused Atton, who sat up abruptly. His head swiveled in a frantic motion, blaster in hand and sweeping the room for threats. When he saw Nadira awake though, he couldn't mask his relief.

"Hey," he breathed, then holstered his weapon sheepishly.

"Hi," she answered weakly. "Where am I?"

"You're on the ship," he answered, kneeling by the table to get closer. He shook his head. "You gave us quite a scare there. I—we were worried there for a while that you weren't going to wake up." He clasped her hand.

She smiled. "You think you can get rid of me that easily? I'm stubborn." She lifted her chin a little then winced as she paid for it. Then she frowned, fear filling her eyes. "Mical! Mira!" she gasped, bolting upright. But Atton stopped her.

"No, it's okay," he assured her as he held her back. "They're fine! They're safe, and they were doing a lot better than you when they came aboard. And if you get up to find them now, we'll all chew you out."

Gathering her breath, she nodded wearily. "Thank goodness." Her eyes rose to Atton who was holding her by the shoulders to keep her from standing. Their gazes locked for a long moment as she forgot to breathe. At last, she blinked, swallowed hard, then pulled away, pushing herself against the wall. "Then I think I'll stay here for a while," she chuckled weakly. "I get enough lectures from Kreia."

"Yeah, that old crone needs to get a hobby that doesn't involve ruining other people's lives," Atton agreed, leaning back and clearing his throat. "Anyways try not to pull that stunt again. It's a really big hassle to babysit you without you goin' to look for trouble."

Nadira scoffed. "Yeah, I'll be sure to lay off being crushed to death. I'm trying to kick the habit."

"Good to hear," Atton grinned slyly. "We don't need to do the Sith's job for them."

He stood to leave but paused at the Exile's voice. "Wait a minute, what happened? How did I get out of there?"

Atton snorted with a shrug. "What are you asking me for? Bao and I were fixing the ship while you guys went sight-seeing, remember?" Before waiting for her response, he vanished.

Nadira shook her head in confusion, then instantly regretted it. "What am I going to do with him?" she sighed sadly.

"Well I have a few suggestions," Mical offered as he walked into the room.

Nadira chuckled. "I'm sure you do with the way you two get along."

"Well, I am quite relieved to see you awake, Nadira." He smiled warmly at the Exile. "It took you longer than any of us anticipated to regain consciousness. I had begun to fear you had sustained injuries more serious than I had initially diagnosed when we brought you back to the ship—"

"Yeah, how did that happen by the way?" Nadira cut in as she rubbed the knot on the back of her head. "The last thing I remember was being buried alive." Even though she chuckled, she suppressed a shudder at the sickening memory.

Mical barely stopped himself in time before glancing out the med bay door. He'd passed Atton in the corridor—he knew the pilot had been here while she was awake. Surely he'd want to brag about his heroic accomplishment, knowing how cocky he was. _So why hasn't he told her?_ Was it another misjudgment on his part about the man's character? He was beginning to wonder if _any_ of them really knew Rand at all. "Actually, Master Nadira…" He hesitated. "I'm not sure if I should say…"

"Mical," Nadira said, trying to hide her confusion. "How did I make it on board the _Ebon Hawk_? Someone had to dig me out of that canyon, so who did?"

"Master, if the person didn't mention it…"

"Mical, come on," she burst, a little frustrated now.

The Disciple sighed. "Atton Rand."

Her annoyance vanished, and suddenly the Exile became flustered. "What?" She looked down, trying to put it together. "How?"

"I'm not sure. All I know is that by the time we came to and doubled back to get to you, we encountered him returning to the ship with you in his arms. You were gravely injured—he said you'd been caught in one of the landslides and that he'd managed to free you."

"How?"

"I don't know. He didn't offer an explanation and we didn't ask. At the time, we were too busy trying to stabilize your condition to consider what he was doing off the ship in the first place."

She pondered Mical's words as her Force perceptions traveled to the cockpit. Atton was reprogramming some subroutines into a damaged portion of the navicomputer. Her pale cheeks flushed as she sensed warm emotions flowing from him—quite a change from his typical frustrated and aloof presence. "Why didn't he just say so when I asked him?"

"Believe me, Nadira," Mical actually scoffed, "that's as much of a mystery to me as it is to you. I did notice some burns on his arms when we first met up with him—"

"Burns?" she gasped.

"He said they were nothing. I offered to treat them, but he refused to let me look at him. I have to say that's the only part of this whole affair that didn't surprise me. But I suspect they were most likely electrical burns. He _has_ been rewiring a number of devices in order to repair the ship."

Nadira didn't seem to be listening any more. After prompting, she submitted to a brief evaluation. When he was finished, Mical was pleased to inform her that she was healing remarkably well and would be fit for duty in no time. With that, he left.

Waiting until he was well away from the med bay, Nadira rose from her bed and unsteadily got dressed. It was difficult, especially with the pain shooting from her legs despite the braces Mical had applied. But eventually, she'd made herself more presentable. Slowly, she made her uncertain way up to the cockpit.

Atton's head turned as he heard her approach, mouth falling open in disbelief at the sight of her. "What do you think you're doing? Get back to med bay and lie down!" he ordered, beginning to push her in that direction.

She wrenched herself out of his grasp, nearly falling over before he caught her. "I'm not leaving until you give me some straight answers, flyboy," she declared, eyeing him shrewdly.

He balked at her words. "Are you insane? You can barely stand! You _are_ going back to med bay if I have to carry you and you're going to stay there until you're _fully_ recovered. That means you don't come out until Mical clears you for duty." She raised her chin defiantly, eliciting one of his cocky grins. "Don't challenge me," he warned. "You know I'm not bluffing."

Nadira shrugged. "Oh, I _know_ you're not. I mean, how else did I get back here in the first place?"

He shook his head convincingly. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Oh don't give me that! I know you carried me back to the ship!"

"How many rocks hit your head again?"

She slapped his arm, and he hissed. Frowning, she began tugging at his sleeve.

"Hey!" he protested, trying to pull away from her, but it was too late.

She looked down in horror at the scar. "What happened?" she breathed.

"What are you talking about? I've had that for years—"

"This is a lightsaber burn, Atton!" she insisted. "It's not even ten hours old!" _He got these trying to save me_, she realized. Looking back up at him, her face paled with worry. "Atton, what happened to you? Why did you come for me when you know it's dangerous for you?"

"I got this from that stupid tin can of yours, while I was reprogramming the console," he explained. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you flipping out—"

Nadira's eyes narrowed. "How could T3 give this to you if you 'got it years ago?'"

"You didn't buy it."

"Atton!" She fixed him with a harsh glare, eyes belying her worry.

He groaned, exasperated, as he yanked his arm out of her hands. "Okay! Fine! I sensed you were in trouble and came out to save your butt." He shrugged, raising his chin a little. "'Cause, let's face it, you're helpless without an army. _And_ you're a trouble magnet. Bad combination. And I guess Mical and Mira are okay-ish fighters, but…" he chuckled, "…heh, they're not me." He shook his head in amusement. "All I knew was you were in danger so I couldn't just sit back and do nothing. I mean, you're the only reason the crew hasn't marooned me yet, and I'd rather be forced to settle on a drier world than Dxun." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "And one with a decent bar and Pazaak gang… I came out looking for you. So sue me."

Nadira cocked one eyebrow as she listened to his account. "And the burns?" she asked pointedly.

"Do you have any idea how many trees had fallen across the path you guys took?" he asked incredulously. "I had to use my lightsaber just to take the same route. So I got a little clumsy with it."

Nadira shook her head. "No. I don't buy it. You don't _do_ clumsy."

Atton cursed inwardly. "Look, Nadira, you may have used one all your life, but I haven't. I'm not gonna be as proficient as you are overnight." He turned away, lips tight like she'd embarrassed him by pointing out a weakness of his.

The Exile paused, uncertain for a moment. Her eyes turned down to the floor, ashamed that she'd hurt him. But then she looked at him sideways. "Then why didn't you just tell me that before?"

"Because it's embarrassing, that's why! I'm not about to give that old hag any more material on me than she already has!"

"Kreia?" She shook her head. "What does she have to do with it?"

"Really, Nadira? You're a Jedi and you haven't picked up on the fact that we're not best buds?"

"Is she giving you more grief about me?"

"When isn't she?" Atton groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. He winced when the movement stretched the skin around his burn.

Nadira looked at him in concern. "Well, the least I could do is see to those burns. Those have to be treated or you could lose some mobility." She gingerly leaned over to fish out the medic kit stashed in a compartment under the copilot's station. Having exhausted her Force energy trying to stay alive in the canyon, her levels were depleted for the time being. Pulling out the burn ointment, she clasped his wrist.

"I don't need to be babied. I'm fine." He unsuccessfully tried to pull it away from her. But with her lingering disorientation, she fell at his motion. He caught her, bringing the two of them close to each other. Shaking his head to keep himself focused, he lowered her into the chair. "Fine, but you're sitting here before you wind up killing yourself." He knew she wouldn't leave until he'd had some treatment. Glaring at her, he extended his arm so she could apply the salve. "You're right," he grumped. "You _are_ stubborn."

She smiled. "You say the sweetest things," she retorted smugly.

Atton's eyebrow arched. Flirting? He certainly hadn't expected that response from her. The man swallowed and looked away for a second, regaining his composure. _How can she so thoroughly complicate _everything_?_ He watched her discreetly as she worked, studying her movements to see how well she was healing.

It didn't take her long to finish treating his burns, and she began to wrap them in light bandages. "I'll use the Force to heal them as soon as I get my strength back," she promised. The Exile bound the last of his scars. "Thank you, by the way, for saving me," she said slowly, unable to look at him as she spoke.

He gazed at her for a moment before assuming a self important stance. "Yep. I'm just that good. But like I said, watch your back from now on. I may not have time to spare next time."

She pinned Rand with an icy glare. Giving him a shove, she stood and left the cockpit with all the speed her injured legs could lend her.

He sat on the floor where he'd landed, laughing till she was out of range. Then he looked down at the bandages on his arms. He traced the edge with a hand, surprised at how quickly the pain was subsiding. He sighed heavily. _You can never know, but it's really you who's saved me_, he mused in wonder.


	8. The Enemy of My Enemy

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 8: The Enemy of My Enemy…**

Just Before the Last Mission on Dxun…

The group sat around waiting restlessly for Nadira and Visas to return. Each member exuded anxiety but none more than Atton. Every few minutes or so, he would get up and pace around the holoprojection console at the center of the room. His face was set in tight lines as though he were focused on something. Groaning in frustration, he grabbed a glass of caf off the counter and threw it back like a shot, ignoring how the drink burned the inside of his mouth and throat. Mical watched him in disbelief, having seen steam rise from the liquid just seconds before. Rand slammed the glass down and leaned on the counter.

"Why isn't she back yet?" he growled.

"I doubt she would have found Master Kavar quickly," Mical answered, voice tentative. "It may well take her as long to track him down as the others."

Atton stiffened and Mical braced for the backlash. But he only ran a hand through his brown hair and began to pace some more. "I should have gone with her."

"She wouldn't let you, remember?" Bao-Dur pointed out.

Atton grunted in response, a certain sulky ring to its tone.

"Hopefully Mandalore and his contact can be…._trusted_." The mechanic hissed the last word with loathing, agitated nearly as much as Atton. The others were surprised because of how calm the Iridonian usually was under the worst of circumstances. He'd been more on edge however since he learned of Nadira's alliance with Mandalore. Though he kept himself in the rigid discipline they'd all come to expect from him.

Shaking his head, Atton turned to the console and replayed the communication from the Mandalorian camp.

"This is Kelborn of the Mandalorians to the crew of the _Ebon Hawk_. Jedi Master Obsidian had asked us to apprise you of the status of her mission in her stead. Mandalore, the Miraluka and Obsidian were preparing to take a shuttle to Iziz, the capitol city of Onderon, when we were attacked by stealthed warriors. It took all our man power combined simply to defeat them, but your friends managed to make it through the battle unscathed." He chuckled through the vocoder of his helmet, as though he found this detail amusing. "They immediately took advantage of the reprieve to board the ship and get underway. The meeting with Mandalore's contact is on according to his last report before departing. We will not hear from them again until they have returned. Let's hope that your leader knows how to blend in as well as she can fight. The people of Onderon are on the verge of civil unrest as you might have guessed. If the locals discover she sneaked on to the planet, they'll treat her as a spy."

"Of course, he had to throw that one in," Mira commented. They all knew the penalty on Onderon for espionage and treason, alleged or proven.

Bao looked over at Atton. He had zoned out again. "It's too far." Atton whirled to look at him as he spoke. "With the distance separating us, you won't be able to sense her from here."

"We'll see," he replied though not in anger.

"She may even be masking her Force signature to hide from the Sith that infiltrated the Mandalorian camp," Mical added.

"That's what worries me." Rand's eyes narrowed as he looked to each member of the crew in the hold. "How did they find us anyway? Even the Onderon militia hadn't found us yet, and they had a better trace on us than the Sith did."

"It is an excellent point that the fool makes," Kreia said as she entered the hold.

Atton whirled on her. "What, finally decide to grace us with your presence, you old hag? Look this discussion is just for people who are actually concerned about Nadira. So why don't you go back to your quarters and meditate?"

She turned to face him, presence chilling the room in her anger. "If you think that I am not concerned for her welfare then you are an even greater fool than I had guessed. Her safety is my chief concern. My second is the success of her mission which was why I was meditating. The peace of solitude away from your mindless prattle allows me to monitor her progress."

"You can sense her from this distance?" Mical asked.

"No, she has hidden herself in the Force. It is well that she did. Her pursuers draw ever closer. But I can sense the ripples she leaves in the Force, masked or not. The consequences of her actions may as well be a signature she leaves behind. She is fortunate though that the Sith here are the lesser drones and not the lord we must eventually confront. Or such a tactic would have been discovered and she would be dead by now."

Atton sighed in relief, somewhat glad to know that Kreia was no more able to sense her than he was. Though her last statement was less than comforting.

"However back to the fool's question—"

Atton's jaw tightened, eyes burning into Kreia like ion lasers.

"—it is possible that the Sith have spies on the planet or the moon. Even people high up in the ranks working for them in Iziz. That may even explain why we were shot down when we arrived here. The transmission did say that our arrival was anticipated."

Everyone was silent for a moment.

"If that is so," Mical murmured, "then she could be in even greater danger on the planet than she was here on Dxun."

At this, Atton turned to walk out the door.

"Where are you going?" Mira called out.

"I'm going to check the perimeter real quick," he answered as he lowered the landing ramp. "Wanna make sure the leftovers from the Mandalorian camp aren't waiting outside to ambush us while she's gone or her when she comes back."

Mical started walking after him. But Bao caught him.

"If he's right, he can't do the search alone," Mical protested.

"He'll be fine," Bao assured him. "We'll know if he finds trouble. You may have noticed but he doesn't do things quietly."

Atton stopped as he got several meters away from the ship, taking a deep cleansing breath. His heart finally began to slow, and he was better able to find his center. Reaching out again, he tried to sense where Nadira was or at least if she was alright. Nothing. Rand cursed inwardly. The last time he couldn't sense her, she'd nearly been buried alive. And Kelborn's update of her status had been anything but reassuring. Then he remembered Kreia's comment about tracking her. Turning his face skyward, he closed his eyes. He slowly shut out all distractions, from the rain soaking his ribbed jacket to the sounds echoing through the jungle. He reached into the stream of the Force, letting it wash everything else away. Slowly, he felt the currents of the galaxy, its patterns and flows, the ripple-effect consequences of each decision made by every living being. They buffeted against each other in a relentless cadence, stirring the life force of the universe without end. He then narrowed his focus to find the Jedi he sought—what she had accomplished, and what had become of her. Her wake on Onderon murmured faintly, her last movements obscured but clearly tainted with urgency. _Come on, Nadira. Where are you?_

A hand on his shoulder broke through his concentration and he acted. Spinning, he instinctively drew his lightsaber in place of the dagger he had used in the past when he was caught off-guard. It didn't happen often, but no one who managed it ever lived to tell the tale. This inbred reaction was burned into his body's consciousness, his hands moving without thought. He blinked in shock and froze to find Nadira's throat on the other side of his blade.

She chuckled nervously. "Good to see you missed me," she commented, somewhat out of breath as she eyed the blue blade suspended between them.

"Nadira!" he gasped, torn between relief, irritation, and fear at what he'd almost done. The blade hissed as it retracted into the hilt and he hastily clipped it to his belt again. He nearly drowned in the cacophony of his turbid emotions, each voice fighting to be heard at once. His hands grabbed Nadira by the shoulders and pulled her tightly to his chest.

The Exile gasped in surprise at the motion, eyes wide as he held her. But half a second later, just as she'd relaxed in his hold, he thrust her back again at arm's length, shaking her.

"What took you so long?" he sputtered. There was a hint of color in his face and she wondered as to its cause. She searched the pilot's hazel eyes, wide with fear. "And what were you thinking cutting us off like that? Do you have any idea how much—_we_ were worried about you?"

"I couldn't allow the Sith to follow me to Master Kavar." Her tone was quiet, eyes distant as she studied Atton.

"The last time you went off the map you almost got yourself killed! Don't ever do that to me again!" he burst.

Her brow furrowed, then smoothed as she stared at him in question. "You were worried about me," she breathed, uncertain.

"Are you kidding?" he questioned in disbelief. Though, there was a hint of evasiveness in his tone. He cleared his throat to cover the change. "Do you have any idea what that witch would do to me if you didn't come back?"

She shook her head, eyes knowing. "You _were_ worried about me."

Atton stared at her as though she'd missed his previous explanation. "Yeah. Again, you're the only one who can control that scow's homicidal tendencies. I may not have much of a life, but I like it much better without her ending it. Or worse." He shuddered.

Nadira examined her pilot with narrowed eyes offset by a knowing smile. She didn't dispute his excuse, but she suspected his motives to be nobler than that. "Well I'm glad that you hold my arbitration skills in such high esteem."

Silence fell between the two, leaving only the sound of the falling rain around them as her blue-grey eyes locked onto his.

"So, anyways, we installed the replacement parts Mandalore gave us," Atton quickly changed the subject. "The _Ebon Hawk_'s all patched up and ready to go. Uh…we should tell the others you're okay."

"Yes, that would be wise," she mused smoothly, following him. Then lengthening her stride, she made a point of brushing past him as they walked. At her touch, he faltered in his steps, watching her climb the ramp into the ship. His mouth hung open as he stood entranced. She spun at the top of the ramp and placed her hands on her hips. "You coming?" she purred, enjoying this thoroughly.

His jaw snapped shut and he tried to force a scowl, not entirely succeeding as he stormed up the ramp. Her grin widened, renewed hope growing in her heart. She reminded herself they hadn't yet hit a port where Atton could make good on his intention to leave their company. But as he'd gazed at her, she couldn't extinguish the flame his eyes had stoked. And now _her_ eyes followed _him_ as he went into the hold. _If the time comes_, she resolved, _I'm going to cherish what time I do have until then_. She sighed, taking the same path he had.

Many of the crew jumped up and rushed over as she entered. One-by-one, they expressed their joy to see her alive, quickly followed by a multitude of questions as to the success of her mission. It took some time for them to settle down long enough to hear the answers they sought.

"We encountered a few problems in Iziz. Apparently, the problems there run much deeper than we had anticipated. Some factions in the Onderon military are stirring the people against Queen Talia. They're led by General Vaklu, ironically the queen's cousin."

"Guess he got a little power-hungry," Bao-Dur commented.

"Looks like," Nadira agreed. "His right-hand man, Colonel Tobin, is the one who nearly shot us down."

"Remind me to introduce myself the next time we run into him," Atton chimed in cheerily. "I wanna thank him personally." His eyebrows lowered, the corners of his mouth rising in a devious way that inspired fear and amusement simultaneously.

"Well it seems that neither of them hold the Jedi in very high regard since Master Kavar is aiding the Queen. Heh, neither does the rest of the planet for that matter. Well, after sorting through a number of complications, we finally got the meeting back on track. But as I greeted Master Kavar in the cantina, Col. Tobin and his men surrounded us." She sighed heavily, massaging the bridge of her nose. "Kavar had to run for it while we covered for him. Then we had to fight our way out."

"Nice of Kavar to help you out," Atton scoffed.

"He had to warn the queen that Vaklu was on the move." She paused, eyes turned downward in pensive expression. "Besides, I wasn't about to leave him open to attack." She gave an ironic laugh and shook her head. "Just like old times…"

Atton's attention sharpened at her nostalgia.

"'Old times'?" Mira cocked her head curiously.

"I'd suspected the two of you had been close by how you spoke to each other," Visas commented, a ghost of a smile on her face.

"I'm glad that meeting with him again wasn't painful for you," Mical added. "Then again, I always had the feeling that the Council's ruling did not sit well with him. I even got the sense that he'd opposed it. He couldn't say so publically of course, but—"

"Who is this guy?" Rand demanded frustrated at being excluded. He turned to Nadira, trying to mask his uneasiness. "How do you know him?"

The Exile sighed, a sad smile tugging at her lips. "He was my Jedi Master before the wars…my trial before the Jedi Council was the first time I'd seen him since. And the last…till today."

While Atton was relieved at the clarification, it surprised him to see Nadira so unsettled. The Jedi was unusually somber after her trip to Onderon, but he supposed it made sense after this poignant meeting. For a Jedi, their Master was the equivalent of a surrogate parent as well as their teacher. And to see him now in this chaos, still affected by the tenor of their last meeting even and especially after a decade of life in exile…he couldn't imagine. As he watched her, he noted the change in her stance. Her commanding presence had been replaced to some degree with an air of deference, making her look much younger… _More like a padawan_, he realized. _She's afraid of what he thinks of her_. He shook his head marveling and a little thrown to see her so subdued.

"But the ambush forced him to withdraw," she finished.

"Wait! So you didn't even get to see him?" Mira asked, leaning forward in frustration.

"No," Nadira admitted. "With all that's going on, he's a high profile target. Vaklu and his forces could try to use him to get to the Queen. Kavar needs to lay low for a while, but he said he would contact me when he could. That may not be until things settle down."

"If he favors the survival of the galaxy, it had better not be," Kreia murmured in an authoritative tone.

"Well things aren't going to calm down on Onderon anytime soon," a gravelly voice drifted from the shadows. A warrior stepped out from the corridor leading to the landing ramp. He was covered from head-to-toe with armor. "Fortunately, I don't think we're going to have to wait that long."

Mira, Bao-Dur and Atton all trained their blasters on him. Though it would have done little good—this man was as solid as a statue behind those cortasteel plates.

"What are you doing here?" Bao-Dur's tone was dangerously quiet.

"Relax." Even through the vocoder, they heard the man's amusement filter through. "I'm not here for a rematch. Your bunch is almost as jumpy as 'Republic' used to be."

"Oh, I doubt Admiral Onasi would have let you on board the ship with what you've told me. It's okay guys," Nadira assured them. Mira and Atton slowly lowered their blasters, Bao-Dur only following suit after a reassuring nod from the Exile. Bowing his head to her in deference, he laid the weapon across his lap, eyes locking onto the intruder, watching him closely.

"Kelborn's had word from your Jedi friend on the planet," he told Nadira.

"Is the way clear?"

"Hardly. We need to head back to the camp to work out a plan to reach him."

"Did the message indicate—"

An electronic beep sounded, and the man activated a comm device on his wrist band. "Yeah, what is it?"

"Mandalore, I have something. You need to see this."

"Very well, Kelborn. I'll be there soon." Deactivating the comm, he turned to the Exile. "There have been developments—we need to move out."

The others turned to look at Nadira. She nodded and followed after Mandalore. The others slowly filed out after her.


	9. Divide and Conquer

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 9: Divide and Conquer**

At the sound of steps behind him, Kelborn turned from the console he was monitoring. Mandalore entered the room, the crew of the _Ebon Hawk_ behind him. The warrior stepped aside so his leader could assess the readings himself. He turned to the Jedi, his position conveniently blocking the group's view of the terminal. He quickly came down to business to divert their attention from the readout Mandalore was now studying.

"You got my message then?"

"I did. What's the word?" Nadira knew he was attempting to distract them, but she let him have it.

"A man named Kavar wanted to get a hold of you urgently. He said that the Queen had arranged safe passage to Onderon for you." He laughed. "Only down there a day and a half and you manage to impress those closest to the royal family—that takes skill." His gaze swept up and down her unassuming form, clearly seeing this Jedi in a new light. Then, he shrugged. "Too bad though—don't know how good their offer is anymore."

"What's changed? Did Kavar say what he wanted?" she asked, masking her concern.

"He wouldn't tell me anything," Kelborn growled irritably. "Just that he wanted to see you. He said that it was urgent. But that doesn't matter now."

She gave the Mandalorian a quizzical glance.

"This morning, General Vaklu met with the Council of Lords and declared that the Queen was guilty of treason. He'll be made Regent if Talia and her Royal Guard are defeated. The Military is divided on who to support. Civil war has fallen on Iziz." His tone rang less of concern than annoyance.

Nadira shook her head. Her friends could sense the worry and frustration building in her. "There's got to be _something_ we can do to help her." She knew Kavar—he was a good man who did not cast his support politically without heavy consideration. In most instances, he refused to give it at all. But Talia was a good ruler—despite the civil unrest, she could clearly see it from what she had seen and heard while on Onderon. _No wonder she's gained his support_, she mused.

Kelborn was already shaking his head though. "I doubt that queen Talia and her advisor will survive until nightfall. The balance of forces had seemed to favor her—the royal palace is heavily fortified and defensible, and most of the soldiers are loyal to her. But Vaklu has new allies: Sith soldiers and their masters."

_That would explain how they found us so quickly in the first place_, Nadira concluded.

"Even the caged beasts seem to feed off the frenzy of this uprising," Kelborn continued. "They're mad now, attacking anyone they can once they've broken free." He gestured to the warrior standing guard at the door. "Bralor and I concur. She doesn't stand a chance."

Atton saw the Exile stiffen almost imperceptibly at this pronounced judgment. While he knew their words could not deter her, he could feel the tremor of fear that momentarily sparked within her.

"You underestimate the power of the Force, Mandalorian," Kreia interjected. "I sense we may still get to Master Kavar in time." She paused, sensing the relief in Nadira. "However, the insurrection in Iziz is not the only trial we face. I sense there is something…stirring on the moon itself." She then turned to Kelborn, hooded face more commanding than they'd believed possible. "Tell me, have your sensors picked up anything from Dxun?"

Bralor, Kelborn and Mandalore exchanged a glance before the last gave a permissive nod.

"Y-yes, yes we have. How…?" Kelborn stammered for a moment before resuming his rigid bearing. "We picked up some transmissions from nearby in the jungle," he reported crisply. "We only have our shuttle sensors, so we know little more than that."

The elderly Jedi nodded. "So I thought." She turned to Nadira. "Those transmissions are the enemy. They are linked to the fate of Onderon. They must be stopped. Otherwise, the Mandalorian is right—Master Kavar and Queen Talia shall not survive this day."

The Exile's eyes turned downward, pensive.

"Dividing our forces at a time like this would be foolhardy," Mandalore objected. He could tell where Kreia's hints were leading.

"And this is why a common soldier will never triumph against a Jedi," Kreia spat back tartly. "Your military 'tactics' are nothing compared to the Force. It is essential and inevitable that we face both enemies at the same time."

The two turned to Nadira for her decision. She remained silent for a moment, head still bowed as she considered her options. She didn't like the idea of splitting up either but neither threat could be ignored. Sighing she met Kreia's blind gaze.

"Very well. We'll send the expedition. From what you sense, how many should we send to deal with matters here?"

"It should be a small insurgent team," she answered readily. "Strong enough to breech the defenses and still small enough to infiltrate the enemy's camp with minimal risk of detection."

Nadira paused, pondering how ready Kreia's answer had been. But she would have to worry about that later. After a beat, she agreed with her assessment. She turned and looked at her pilot for a moment. The Exile was hesitant to send him with his difficulties on Korriban. But she didn't think she could ask any of the others to lead. He was strong enough—she knew it. But she didn't like the prospect of commanding him to go. "I believe Atton should lead the team," she said slowly. Her eyes never left Rand's. "Are you free to lead the team? Or has the nav computer been fixed yet? After this, we may have to make a quick exit and we can't do that without the star charts."

Atton almost blinked in surprise. The nav computer was already fixed. Had been for days—she knew that. _But no one else does_, he thought. Realization flooded him instantly. _She's giving me an out_.

"Nope, nav computer's all set," he answered. "Besides, I'm ready for a little fresh air. I get a little restless if I'm stuck on the ship too long." He twirled his blasters lazily, usual cocky grin in place. "Hacking through beasts and jungles? Sounds like a job for me."

While Nadira seemed reassured, Kreia was clearly doubtful. But for once, she didn't contradict the Exile's decision, grudgingly letting her choice stand. "Who else will accompany the fool on his errand?" she asked, ignoring the glare this earned from both Nadira and Atton.

Shaking her head, Nadira turned back to the rest of her crew. "Mical? Visas? Will you go with Atton to stop the Sith?"

Both consented with determination.

"Very well," Kreia breathed. She faced Nadira. "Now, are you certain of your choices?"

"I am."

"So be it." Kreia glanced over the team, eyes lingering on Atton only a second before moving on.

The pilot caught her veiled message nonetheless. He resisted the urge to raise his chin defiantly.

"Mandalorian warriors will go with you to find the enemy camp," Kelborn's voice cut through their exchange and drew their attention. "Do you need to gather supplies or are you ready to head out?"

Atton glanced inquiringly at his teammates before answering Kelborn. "We're ready."

Kelborn made a motion and Bralor stepped forward. "Take them to Xarga." He turned back to Atton. "He'll go with you leading a unit of our men. They'll provide you with any back up they can."

Atton nodded, turning to follow Bralor out the door when Nadira caught his arm. He swiveled to face her. The young Jedi's face was calm but her eyes shone. In them, confidence mingled with concern.

"You can do this," she stated without hesitation.

_She believes it, too_, he realized. He gave her his usual cocky smile. "Of course I can. Don't worry, I won't let Mical and Visas get hurt."

The two behind him groaned and rolled their eyes. Nadira raised an eyebrow but Atton caught the smile she fought to suppress. But then her eyes darkened a little.

"Be safe."

He sobered as well. "You too." He glanced at her a moment longer before turning after Xarga again. "Try not to hog all the fun from your teammates," he called back over his shoulder. "Oh, and tell the Queen I think their tourist bureau could do with some improvement."

"Way ahead of you there," she chuckled.

"Mandalore has arranged for special transportation to get you to Iziz," Kelborn told Nadira.

But she didn't hear, eyes following Atton as he, Mical, and Visas walked across camp till they disappeared from sight.


	10. Proving Grounds

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 10: Proving Grounds**

A gasp sounded as Mical ran into Atton for the fourth time. By this time, Atton had begun using a Force wall behind him to absorb the impact instead of him.

"Must you keep stopping so suddenly?" Mical demanded in a voice that was _supposed_ to be a whisper.

"You don't survive long around the Sith without being cautious," Atton murmured at the edge of his patience. "When I said 'stay close' that didn't mean stand on top of me."

"But you—"

"Keep it down," Atton ordered as forcefully and quietly as he could, "or you'll give away our position."

Mical bit his tongue with an effort. Nadira had given Atton point, and for her sake, he would respect that. Besides, despite his erratic movements, he was proving himself beyond competent at sneaking past the Sith troopers' defenses. They'd only had one or two squabbles before a massive building emerged into sight. Covered with plants, it seemed a formation of the malignant jungle around them.

"There's the tomb that Xarga told us about," Atton said pointing.

"The tomb of Freedon Naad," Visas breathed, deep in thought. She poised gracefully in her scarlet robes. Her hand rose in a smooth motion, wiping the sweat from her brow, barely disturbing the veil over her eyes. Then she resumed her battle-ready stance, grip flexing over her double-bladed saber. "So this is the source that feeds the moon's hunger." Her alto voice, melodic and haunting, seemed to echo the emanating darkness and revile it simultaneously.

"You knew it was here?" Mical guessed.

The Miraluka was silent for a moment. "I knew it was on Dxun…I did not realize how close we had landed to it, though I had my suspicions."

Atton studied her. "The soldiers and Dark Jedi here, your master sent them, didn't he?"

She turned impassively to the pilot. "Yes, these are his men."

"What numbers can we expect to run into?" He turned, examining the entrance again. "We're running out of room to sneak past these morons."

"Heavy front at the entrance, interspersed throughout the tunnels, and several Sith Masters in the main chambers."

Atton's lips quirked into a feral grin. "Good because I'd hate for this to be too easy."

Mical started in alarm, but Visas smiled too. The Disciple cleared his throat nervously, reminding himself again who Nadira had appointed leader. "So, what is the plan?" he asked, being sure to omit the nagging question, "You do have a plan, don't you?"

"Go in, kill the bad guys, get out," he stated simply before shimmering out of sight.

"No, I meant—" But Atton was gone. Mical groaned in frustration.

A hue of sympathy colored Visas' expression. "Do not worry, Disciple. He is sabotaging the enemy droids to help thin their numbers." With her Force Sight, the Miraluka watched Atton weave toward the droid control terminal. Unable to see with their eyes, her race perceived the world through the Force, through others' Force signatures. And every signature was as individual to a person as their DNA. Though, the former could change. Atton's…Atton's had changed _significantly_ over the course of their journey. Moving from a hazy ambiguous grey to a vibrant pulsing blue. While some of the mist still clung to him, it could not hide his slow transformation. His light was similar to Nadira's now, but his possessed its own unique strength. She studied him, trying to identify the source of the change, when Mical's words brought her back to her surroundings.

"He could say so," the man muttered, annoyed. "It would be a nice change."

"Oh stop your whining kid," Atton commented before reappearing beside them. "You two ready?"

Mical opened his mouth, about to answer.

"Good," Atton blurted, nodding and grinning smugly. "Try to stay close—but not on top of me!" he said pointedly to Mical. "You guys engage with sabers, and I'll assist with blaster fire."

"How good is your aim?" The sentence was out of Mical's mouth before he realized it.

Atton though didn't seem to mind. He smiled wickedly and gave a casual shrug. "We'll see." And with that, he took off.

Mical's cheeks burned, embarrassed and angry at the same time. Visas handed the Disciple a battle stimulant. He looked up at her curiously.

"Keep your guard up," she whispered. Her usually strong voice sounded oddly hesitant. Before he could ask her about it, she slipped lithely through the tall grass, barely disturbing the knee-high blades with her passage. He watched her for a second before bringing his mind back to the mission, quickly moving to catch up.

~*~  
The trio froze, surveying the bodies of fallen enemies at their feet.

"How deep do these tombs run?" Atton growled, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"I believe the main chamber is located on this level," Visas answered as she deactivated her saber. "However, based on similar tombs on Korriban, that room will be much farther in, and heavily protected." She jerked her head at the ancient, almost antiquated, terminal in the center of the room. "That device controls one half of the shield's power. If we can deactivate this generator and its double on the other side of the tomb corridors, that should lower the defenses to the main chamber."

Atton had listened intently to her answer, but his attention wavered as she finished, seeing a familiar haze at the edge of his vision. The purple, black cloud seethed a few yards away. Thin fingers of violet lightning traced the stone floor, dancing hypnotically. The pilot was transfixed in misgivings, but at the back of his mind floated a question. His ears caught the faintest whisper emanating from it. After a second, the Exile's words echoed through his mind: _"You're stronger than you let anyone, including yourself, believe."_ He sighed heavily

"I hope you're right, Nadira," he murmured as he straightened.

"What was that Atton?" Mical asked.

"Nothing," Atton answered, turning to face him. "You and Visas work on shutting down the generator."

Mical seemed uncertain. "You have the greatest skill in cracking encrypted databases…"

"I've gotta do something," he replied almost politely.

Mical blinked, surprised at the civility in Rand's voice. He almost asked the man if he was well, but checked himself just in time, deciding to take the safer route and not press his luck. Bowing slightly, he walked into the small enclosure, divided from the rest of the room by a circular wall, and joined Visas beside the computer, leaving Atton to his pensive study.

The pilot considered the Dark Energy lapping at the ground, whispering seductively. The whispers did not move him, but he remained wary. This was not the canyon where he'd found Nadira. As difficult as that battle had been, it paled compared to the pull of this place. Seated in the heart of darkness, the tomb fed this apparition's power, increasing its draw exponentially.

He was safe where he stood outside its grasp. But his instincts told him there was greater darkness ahead. He steeled himself. None of them would make it out alive if he didn't take every advantage he could get. He had to know he was strong enough. He stepped forward, gait steady as he closed the distance to the writhing mists.

The clammy wisps gave for him like water, coiling around his legs and arms to engulf him. The dark presence welcomed him with a sinister cordiality. He suppressed a shiver at the sickening familiarity that washed over him: the way the hairs on his neck stood on end, his heightened senses searching for threats, heart racing faster in apprehension tinged with his Sith's sense of excitement.

He recoiled at the thrill that ran though him, stirred by the impulses that had fed him for so long, impulses he now fought. As the primal instinct ebbed and died away altogether, he froze, stunned at how little influence his anger held over him anymore. Then, he grew suspicious. Casting around, he shook his head. _No_, he thought, hand gripping the sabers on his belt, _it can't be _that_ easy_.

He was right…

Atton heard a quiet whimper behind him and spun. The blood in his veins froze at what he saw. A disheveled Jedi was cringing on the floor before a Sith Master. Both figures he recognized in half a heartbeat. The weary Jedi was _her_, the one who had sacrificed her life to save him, her tormentor, from the Sith. He didn't even know her name. And she'd died to show him hope. Now she knelt on all fours, panting for breath, weak and broken before her captor. Darth Revan stared down at the woman, posture portraying a mix of amusement and disgust. "You disappoint me," the voice came through Revan's mask, electronically distorted by the vocoder. A gesture of the Dark Lord's hand had the frail woman hovering in the air. She hung limp, powerless and defeated for a moment before a crimson blade cut her down.

With a shout of rage, Atton rushed the Dark Lord, igniting his saber as he came. Revan deflected the blow easily, stepping out of Rand's path.

"And you, Jaq," the Sith Lord purred, "my greatest weapon, the best infiltrator and inquisitor I've ever trained, you are beyond my contempt." They circled, shoulders hunched as they moved like beasts on the prowl.

"Such skill, such talents you threw away blindly," Revan continued. "You may have even replaced Malak if you hadn't run out like a coward."

Atton anticipated the blow before it fell, raising his blade as the Sith attacked him. A haze of red encased him, and it was all he could do to deflect the flurry that rained down on him. He retained his composure as Revan pulled away. The sweat on his brow glistened as their sabers moved—the only evidence of his exertion.

"Yeah, calling me a coward, that's a new one," Rand scoffed. "You wanna insult me, Revan, you've gotta try harder than that. Come on, you of all people have to have something better." He could almost hear the cruel smile in his opponent's laughter.

"Nothing serves my purposes better than the truth, Jaq. You _think_ it's a show to mask your true intentions, your true nature. But you've been playing the coward for so long that it's starting to take hold. You've _become_ the disguise. Otherwise, you would have challenged me to save the Jedi I'd tasked you to break." The Sith's blade pointed to the crumpled body.

Atton's defenses wavered for a moment as he stared at her lifeless form.

"Did you confront me to save her?"

No answer.

"Afterwards to avenge her?"

Again, silence. All the while, Revan crept closer to Atton who stood in a moment of doubt.

"No," the Dark Lord continued. "You _killed_ her. She risked her life to save you and you crushed her, then ran and hid from the questions you couldn't bring yourself to face. If that's not cowardice, 'Atton' then what is?" Atton barely got his guard up in time to save himself from the Sith's barrage. Recovering though, he managed a saber lock. He quickly pressed his advantage and threw a kick out. Legs caught in his swing, Revan was thrown to the floor. The Dark Lord's mask went flying from the jarring impact of the fall.

Rand's face drained of color at his first glimpse of Revan. Never, during his time in the Mandalorian Wars or the Jedi Civil War had he ever glimpsed his leader's face. And now, there staring back at him—hatred burning in her yellow eyes—was the face of the Exile.

"Nadira?" he gasped in disbelief. His saber lowered.

His opponent grinned with evil satisfaction, slamming her booted foot into his chest and catapulting him backwards. Regaining her feet as he fell, she loomed over the dazed pilot. "Face it, Jaq," the Exile's voice purred, "you'll never be one of them." The blade of her lightsaber rose to end his life. But a Force pulse knocked her back.

"It's not what you think!" Mical called as he rushed past Atton to stand between Rand and the Sith Lord. "It's not Nadira!"

"What?" Atton coughed, pulling himself off the floor.

Mical was about to answer, but his explanation was cut short as a statue flew at them. The two dove out of its path, scrambling to keep from being caught under the stone representation of Freedon Naad.

Mical pulled himself to his feet only to dive again to escape what would have been a decapitating blow by Revan's saber.

Eyes blazing furiously, she swung at him in a relentless cadence, never letting up for a moment. Mical found himself hard pressed to deflect her attacks. The fact that she looked exactly like Nadira was more disorienting than he'd anticipated. Suddenly, he found himself on his back on the floor, having tripped over the remains of the statue.

As Revan's blade came at his throat, she froze, eyes wide, mouth gaping in an inaudible gasp as a blue beam protruded from her stomach. Mical blinked in surprise, craning his neck to find Atton behind the Dark Lord.

As the blade retracted, both Revan and Atton collapsed to their knees. Face contorted with grief and confusion, he caught her as she fell.

Revan glanced up at Rand, eyes seeming to clear. "She's trained you well," she whispered. "Give her my regards." With that, she dissolved into mist.

Mical sat up watching Atton's face as Revan vanished. The man panicked slightly, grasping at the air to hold her there. Closing his eyes for a second, Mical placed a hand on Atton's shoulder.

Rand tensed, halting suddenly, trying to pull his impassive mask back in place. But it was not working well—he still couldn't banish the image of Nadira in his arms dying. And at his hand.

"It wasn't her," Mical said quietly.

Atton couldn't speak, afraid his voice would betray him.

"Nadira's on Onderon," he continued. "I know this felt real in every way possible. But it wasn't Nadira."

"You saw her—it was her—it had to be." Atton swallowed looking down at his saber hilt. "And I…"

"No," Mical assured him. "Revan and Nadira are twin sisters. Even if it had been real, it was Revan you fought, not the Exile."

Atton blinked at Mical. "What? Twin…sisters?"

Mical nodded. "They were always very close. That's why they went to war together. Malak admired them, and as their best friend, he was always quick to follow their lead."

Atton released his breath, a shudder running through him before relief could set in.

Mical saw the fear leave him, though Atton's fear was more telling than anything the Disciple had witnessed in him up to that moment. _He does care for her_, he realized. _It isn't just a base desire or fleeting attachment._ This revelation unearthed a higher respect in him for the rogue pilot, one that had been building to this point for weeks. His integrity had been emerging slowly over the course of their journey, but with the Disciple's protective nature, Mical would never fully trust the man as long as his intent towards Nadira was in doubt.

"Great," Atton chuckled wearily. "Guess I failed that test."

"I wouldn't say that."

Rand glanced at Mical, puzzled.

"You saved my life despite fears and doubts you harbored," he explained. "You did not let yourself fall prey to Revan's deceit: before or after you saw her face. And you stopped her, in spite of how deeply it pained you to do so." Mical paused. "Nadira chose the right man to lead us. She would be very proud of you."

Atton could not hide the surprised expression on his face at Mical's praise. He studied the Disciple's face a minute before deciding he was serious. He nodded his thanks as he stood. Offering a hand down, he helped Mical to his feet.

The shroud of the Dark side dissipated as they stood. After a moment, the constant whir that filled the room died away. They turned to see Visas approach.

"This half of the force field has been deactivated," she informed them. Turning to face Atton, she nodded in deference.

"We can't waste any time. We have to deactivate the other generator," Atton responded.

Visas stepped beside him. "Lead on. We will follow."

Atton's resolve strengthened, encouraged by their confidence in him. "Well, I guess we shouldn't keep the Exile waiting."

He took off to the other half of the tomb, Mical and Visas close behind.


	11. A Small Respite

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 11: A Small Respite**

Atton was pacing again. Despite the constant rains that drenched Dxun's surface, the swath of grass in front of the landing platform was beginning to yellow and die. By the time he, Visas and Mical had returned to the Mandalorian camp, Nadira and her team had made it to Onderon. Twenty minutes later, the pilot was evicted from the premises by an irritable Kelborn, patience depleted by Atton's badgering questions regarding Nadira's status.

"When we get word, we'll link you!" the warrior had barked brusquely in response to Rand's protests.

As the party had plodded back to the ship, Mical whispered to Visas his surprise that Kelborn's patience had held out that long. His words elicited a warning grunt from Atton and a soft chuckle from Visas.

Afterwards, Atton had run checks, prepped stores, aligned sensors, done every task that might need doing, anything to keep himself occupied until Nadira's return. At length when that failed, he found himself outside.

He breathed deeply. The fresh air scented with the falling rain helped a little, and it was a nice change from how claustrophobic the ship had become. Ignoring his rain-soaked clothes, he used the time to practice his saber technique. His arms ached, but it did nothing to hamper the grace of his motions. He chuckled—he was beyond such pain ages ago. The only thing that mattered was precision. His sabers twirled in a ceaseless motion, fluid and flawless.

Suddenly, he froze mid-swing before straightening, looking with wide, searching eyes to the tree line. Every muscle was tense as he hooked his sabers onto his belt, pulse racing a little. He tried half-heartedly to suppress it but abandoned the effort when he saw a figure emerge from the jungle. His smile refused to stay hidden. However, he did restrain his impulse to run forward and catch her up in his arms.

Kreia and Mandalore trailed close behind Nadira as they returned to the ship. The Exile smiled when she saw the pilot waiting for them at the foot of the ramp. With an effort she retained her composure as she got close enough to realize he was sopping wet. Her heart panged. _He's been standing out here a long time_.

As she came closer, Atton's gaze went to her eyes, studying them. They were not yellow like her Sith double's had been in the tomb. Blue and shining—like they'd always been. He released a breath.

"Hey, the gang's back together," he called casually to make up for how he'd been staring. He grinned. "I must hear all about your vacation to Onderon."

Nadira laughed. "The tour was pleasant. The décor has changed a little since our last visit. The welcoming committee was about the same."

"You expected different arriving in a Mandalorian basilisk?" Mandalore commented.

"Not really."

Atton's eyebrows rose. "'Basilisk?' Yeah, I'll bet that just filled them with generous hospitality when you guys landed." He was shocked the Mandalorians had bestowed a former enemy with such a high honor.

"Yes, their joy was indescribable." She shook her head. "But the political situation has been dealt with. Talia has retained her throne and is working to restore peace to her people."

"Well that's good. When powerful people butt heads, it's usually the little guy who suffers most. What about your master?"

"Kavar has agreed to meet us on Dantooine."

"So you did corner him finally." Atton watched her face for a moment, his expression softening. "You okay?" he asked, remembering her anxiety about seeing Kavar again.

She smiled gently, meeting his eyes. "Yes. It was good to see him again."

"So this meeting I take it went better than the one with Vrook then?" he teased.

She nearly choked on laughter. "By far! Oh, I'll take a scolding from Master Kavar over a grudging commendation from Vrook any day!" She paused. "I'm glad we got the chance to talk."

"We should probably go aboard and plan our next action," Kreia cut in.

Nadira smiled at Kreia's impatience. "Yes, we should. I'll be there shortly." The old woman only nodded, but her frustration at the delay was evident. She and Mandalore trudged up the ramp into the _Ebon Hawk_.

Nadira moved over to the side of the ship and leaned against it, enjoying a moment of peace. The closure she'd found today, small though it was, had strengthened her against the attacks of the moon, making the grief easier to resist. Closing her eyes, she took a deep cleansing breath.

"How are you doing?"

Nadira opened her eyes at Atton's question. "Better... Master Kavar's words have given me more assurance than I've felt in some time. I'd thought he disapproved of me like the rest when I was banished, that I'd disappointed him. And I could not feel the Force to see otherwise. But to have his trust…" she paused, "…it means a lot to me." She smiled at Atton. Then she was surprised to note how relaxed his posture was. "How about you?"

He tilted his head in question.

"Did something happen to you while I was gone?" she clarified. "You seem a little calmer than normal."

He nodded slowly. "Yeah—I guess I just had to prove something to myself, and I had never had a chance to put it to the test until then."

"What did you learn?"

Atton gave the Exile a small smile for a moment, remembering her unwavering confidence in him. "Nothing I didn't already know."

Nadira was a little confused but was glad for the contentment she sensed radiating from him. "That's good to hear," she said standing. Straightening drew her out from under the protective strut of the hull, allowing the rain to resume saturating her clothes. At the cold drops kissing her skin, a shiver coursed through her body. Atton pulled the corners of his jacket up till it draped along his arms over their heads, shielding her from the rain.

"No, Atton you're already soaked."

"Then I won't notice a little more rain."

She stood quietly for a moment, taken by his actions, before her smile dimmed a little. She looked down, trying to figure out how to word a question she feared to ask.

"Well," she breathed uncertainly, "you won't be able to stay on Onderon like you wanted… The Queen's closed the planet to off-worlders until things settle down there. Though I guess, once we get to Dantooine, you'd be able to find a suitable transport to where ever you're planning to go…"

Atton shifted seeming to consider it. "I don't know…" he said grimacing. "Not many good ships pull into Dantooine. I mean, let's face it—it's not the most exciting planet in the sector. No offense. I think I'll have to wait, so I might as well lend a hand since you're stuck with me."

She struggled to hide her smile. "Under those circumstances, I suppose I can accept your proposition."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Me too."

Once they got underway, Kreia called Nadira into the crew's quarters for a session of meditation and instruction. Just Nadira. Everyone else who usually joined them was excluded at Kreia's behest. Even Mical.

Mical trudged into the hold with a scowl. Atton was there, pouring himself a glass of juma juice.

"Well, look who's come to join the party," he commented grinning.

Mical threw the pilot a withering glare as he sunk into a seat near the only table.

Atton continued laughing. "What? The old scow throw you out?" He walked over with a pair of glasses and the jug.

"Yes," Mical answered, tone sulky.

"Well then you gotta be doing something right," the pilot said, setting the drinks on the table. He slapped Mical on the back in a congratulatory manner. Then sitting, he set a glass down in front of the Disciple with a loud clink, and began to pour the liquid into the two glasses.

Mical looked down at the drinks in confusion. Then his puzzled gaze lifted to Atton, then down to the tumblers again.

"Cheers," Atton said, downing his. As he slammed his empty cup down, he saw Mical still studying his drink. He sighed. "You know, it's not gonna come to you, kid."

"Actually, it did," Mical stated, tilting his head as his gaze rested on Atton, still confused. "How'd it get over here in the first place?"

Atton's eyes narrowed in deep thought. "I think I brought it over to you."

"Exactly," Mical retorted, ignoring Atton's sarcasm. "Why?"

"Kreia kicked you out!" Rand grinned again. "In my book, that's the best stamp of approval you could earn!" He leaned back and propped his feet up on the edge of the table.

Mical was still looking suspiciously down at his drink.

"It's not poisoned," Atton commented.

The Disciple's eyes rose to the pilot's face, clearly unconvinced.

Rand's only glinted mischievously. "Oh trust me, if I was going to kill you, it wouldn't be poison."

Mical rolled his eyes but Atton could sense him relax at his joke. Picking up the glass, Mical swirled the liquid a little before placing the tumbler tentatively to his lips. Atton was fighting to keep from laughing as he watched the Jedi take the barest sip.

"So, kid, what _did_ you do after leaving the Temple?"

Mical glared at Atton and downed the glass. After that, his face turned some magnificent shades of green before he started coughing. Rand couldn't hold his laughter in as he swatted at the Disciple's back.

"You sure it isn't poisoned?" Mical gasped when he could breathe at all.

"Hardly, kid, but here's some caf," Atton said, sliding him a new glass of blessedly more familiar liquid.

Grabbing it up gratefully, Mical started drinking it as fast as he could to wash the taste out of his mouth. "Why do you drink that stuff?"

Atton sighed, sobering. "To help me forget."

Mical looked up, his blue eyes still watering from having gagged on the juma juice. "Forget what?" he asked carefully.

"Everything," he said slowly. He swirled his second glass of juma as he sat. "The things that I've seen… The things that I've done." He knocked the round back.

Mical had sobered by now, looking at Atton solemnly. "Does it work?"

Atton set the glass down, eyeing it bitterly. "No."

Mical's eyes moved to the floor and he didn't speak for a moment. "Does anything?"

The man's expression lightened as Nadira's face flashed into his mind. "Yes." He smiled.

Mical began to smile too. "You still haven't told her about what happened inside the crypt have you?"

Atton glanced over at him. "What are you talking about?"

The younger man's eyes narrowed in amusement. "I was there, remember? I _saw_ your face."

Atton's head dipped in frustration.

Mical leaned forward. "What you saw bothered you. What you _did_ bothered you, real or not. You should speak with her. She could set your mind at ease about it." He paused, meeting Rand's gaze. "It's not my place to tell her. I'm not going to give you up if you choose not to. But I believe it would do you good. And maybe then you could forgive yourself as well as forget."

Atton looked up astonished. The idea of forgiving himself seemed so out of reach that he'd dismissed it off-hand. But maybe the kid was right.

"Wow," a voice emanated from behind them. Atton's head spun around to see Nadira. "You two are sitting at the same table. I'm not sure if I should be thrilled or terrified."

"Probably a little of both," came Atton's witty retort.

"Finished with your meditation?" Mical asked.

Nadira bit back a sigh. "Yes. I'm sorry Kreia was so brusque with you. There were some things she wanted to discuss with me before we arrive at Dantooine."

As he looked at Nadira, Atton could feel hints of her frustration sparked by the memory. "Let me guess, another encouraging pep talk from our enthusiastic cheerleader?"

Nadira chuckled at that. _More like advice that left me with more questions than answers_, she thought. "I'm still trying to understand the lessons she's using to teach me. I usually end up more confused than enlightened." She chose her words with care, trying neither to lie nor to disparage her mentor. But most of the truths Kreia sought to instill directly contradicted her beliefs, let alone the teachings of the Jedi. _Though, even I disagree with the Jedi on some points_.

"I'm not certain I find her principles sound," Mical observed quietly. "They seem more self-serving than befits a Jedi."

Nadira did not dispute his claim. Atton almost got the feeling that she was struggling not to affirm it outright. Truth be told, he agreed with Mical too for once. Of course, the old hag had _always_ rubbed him the wrong way. But his instinct was rarely wrong when it came to matters like this.

Lost in thought, Atton missed most of Mical's and Nadira's exchange. He snapped back when the Disciple rose to his feet. It was then that the pilot noticed Visas in the door to the corridor, waiting in silence.

"If you will excuse me," Mical said, bowing to his master.

Nadira returned the bow and the young man left the room, Visas walking beside him. Atton's eyes followed them, eyebrow quirked. He rose and moved carefully over to the Exile, affording him a better view down the hall. Mical and Visas entered Med bay, vanishing from sight.

"I thought he'd already healed her wounds from the tomb," he murmured. He almost laughed at how careful Mical had been to heal her as they went. She rarely went five seconds without his aid once she'd sustained an injury.

"She's still in pain from what Darth Nihilus put her through," Nadira answered. "Mical has been treating her regularly since she joined us." A heavy sigh escaped her lips. "The damage can never be fully undone. But he helps ease her discomfort as much as possible."

The man remembered the day Visas had attacked Nadira. While the Exile had won the duel, she refused to kill her would-be assassin. Nadira'd carried her to Med bay, determined to save her. But even though her mercy had spared the Miraluka, they soon realized it might have been kinder to put the woman out of her misery. Innumerable scars covered her skin, leaving them to marvel that the woman on the table was still alive to threaten Nadira's life in the first place. Still, moved by Nadira's actions on her behalf, Visas had pledged to serve her even at the cost of her life.

"She ask for these treatments?" It seemed so out of character for the impassive huntress.

Nadira smiled, shaking her head. "It took some doing. Mical had to point out the logic of how pain past a point hampers awareness instead of sharpening it."

"So it was Mical's idea?"

"Yes. Though, he asked for my advice before approaching her." Her brow furrowed, clearly wondering why he'd needed her approval.

"You can give some pretty good advice on occasion," Atton commented.

The Exile tossed him a withering glance. "Thank you," she grunted, half-smiling.

"You're welcome," he offered grandly. "Actually, I'd wondered if I could get some myself."

She could see seriousness returning to his expression, so she turned to face him directly. "I'll see what I can do," she jibed one last time before nodding. "What do you need?"

He thought for a few minutes, trying to figure out what to say. She stood in patient silence, waiting for him to speak. "I ran into a Sith Lord while we were searching the tomb on Dxun. One I'd served during the Jedi Civil War. I was instructed to deliver a message…but I'm not sure if I should or not."

"That is serious." Her eyes grew distant as she thought for a moment. "To someone you know?"

"Yes."

"Hmm… Only two people could clearly know the meaning of the message: the Sith Lord and the person his words were intended for." She refocused on Atton. "What did you sense from the Sith when he spoke?"

"Normally, this sort of message is supposed to provoke dissention or fear. But…" He hesitated. "But this time it was different. The Sith's eyes had cleared. Like the dark side wasn't in control anymore." He paused reliving the moment however painful it was, scouring the memory for details that he in grief may have missed, signs of subterfuge or sincerity. Finally he gave a decisive nod. "It wasn't given in malice. Just regret."

She weighed his words, then spoke. "Then I'd say deliver the message." Smiling at Atton, she squeezed his shoulder as he nodded slowly. She moved towards the counter, ready for a glass of caf.

"Revan sends her regards."

Nadira came to a dead stop midstride. Blood running cold, her heart seemed torn with indecision between rising to choke her life away and sinking bitterly into her stomach to poison her.

Atton watched her from where he stood. As she'd stiffened, he'd kicked himself inwardly for bringing it up. Eyes wide, the fear and pain that escaped her impassive mask made him dizzy. But after a moment, she'd pulled her barriers back in place. "Revan was there?" Her voice was quiet, but held only the barest tremor.

"Not technically." Confused by his answer, Nadira turned to face him questioningly. "It was a vision from a dark energy cloud."

She took a shuddering breath of relief. Or was it disappointment? After a moment, he noticed both comingled in her expression.

"I thought she was you at first."

This puzzled the Exile. "But...you said you'd served her."

"Yeah, she played a heavy role in my training." He shrugged. "I guess Revan took an interest in my progress. But she always wore a mask in the presence of others."

"You'd never seen her face before."

The pilot shook his head and the Jedi hung hers.

"I'm sorry Atton." She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Revan..." She closed her eyes as if pained to speak the name. Her voice was quieter when she spoke again. "Rína is my twin sister."

"Rína?"

She nodded. "That was her name before..."

"Before she fell to the dark side," Atton surmised. "So, what happened? Between you two, I mean."

The Exile stood silent for a while. "I don't know," she said at length. "I was one of her top generals during the Mandalorian Wars. We made the decision together to help the Republic fight, despite the Council's wishes. Then after the Battle of Malachor V, I lost my Force Sensitivity. My connection to her almost died with it. She needed to root out the remaining strongholds of the Mandalorian armies. I couldn't help her or the Republic anymore. I couldn't even sense her presence. So, I returned to face the consequences for my actions. Rína was supposed to be right behind me." Nadira paused, swallowing hard.

"But she wasn't."

"No. No, she wasn't. I was sure the Council would exile her like me. I wandered the edge of the galaxy for a decade, hoping we'd cross paths. At least that way, we could spend our exile together." By now, Nadira'd begun pacing. "Then when I came back, I started hearing all these stories about what she'd done... what she'd become... how she began the rampage against the worlds we'd risked our lives to save..." She ran her hands through her hair. "Don't know which ones are true, and which ones aren't..." Nadira stopped pacing and locked eyes with Atton. He was surprised at how vulnerable she appeared now. "I have to know. I have to hear the truth from her own lips: whether she returned to the light or... or if she simply turned on Malak out of vengeance."

Atton nodded in understanding. "Don't worry," he assured her in a quiet voice. "You're gonna find the answers." She still seemed uncertain, and he moved to place his hands on her shoulders. "Trust me."

The Exiled smiled appreciatively at Rand. "Thank you."

Atton nodded, then realizing how close they were, he took a step back, chuckling nervously. "Well, I'll see what I can do about slicing the ship's datalogs. Maybe that can give us some hints on where she ran off to."

"That would really help," Nadira agreed. "Thanks."

He nodded, walking to the comms room. "I'll let you know what I turn up."

She watched him go, a dazed look on her face.

"I thought we'd discussed this."

Nadira whirled to see Kreia in the corridor, watching her with disapproval. The Exile's lips formed a thin line as she fought to keep her temper in check. However, a flush of color rose to her face as she spoke.

"You've made your position on the matter quite clear." Nadira's words, while diplomatic, clearly conveyed her aggravation.

"And yet you still refuse to learn."

"I respect you Kreia—what you've been through and what you've seen. But this is one area where we'll never agree." Her tone was firm.

"Think what you will until experience changes your mind." Kreia straightened piously. "I can see my words are wasted here. I only hope your foolish delusions do not claim your life—and the galaxy's—before you've acquired a little more sense."

"He's not a fool," Nadira declared before she could leave. Kreia froze, if only to hear the Exile out. "In any sense of the word. He's helped us every step of the way, despite the danger. As a favor to me, I would ask that you treat him with some level of respect."

"I will not give him that which he has not earned," the old woman replied without turning. "Not even for you." Then she vanished.

Nadira inhaled sharply, fixing herself to the spot as she suppressed her anger for a moment. Biting her tongue, she took several deep breaths to calm herself. At last, she bowed her head, exhaling slowly and releasing her frustrations with that breath. Anger gone, all that remained was weariness. She turned to head for the workbench and saw Bao-Dur standing in the door. He smiled, nodding at her approvingly.

"Bao. I didn't see you there."

He shrugged. "I thought it best not to interrupt."

"Interfere, you mean?" she asked cocking her head to one side.

The Iridonian shook his head. "No. You've always fought your own battles. And you certainly never needed assistance when defending a friend. Neither have you ever hesitated to do so. Why interrupt the inevitable?" His smile was knowing. She betrayed nothing but he could almost sense her resisting the impulse to gaze at the floor or shuffle her feet nervously.

"I was going to adjust the crystals in my lightsaber," she abruptly changed topics.

He nodded, taking her diversion in stride. "Need a hand?"

Her gratitude was evident. "Yes, thanks." They both turned and headed off to the swoop bay.

Nadira stepped down onto the surface of Dantooine. Atton followed her down the ramp, frowning and shaking his head. "You really oughta take someone with you. If not me, Bao or Mical or Visas. Hey, even the old bag or the homicidal droid!"

Nadira contained her laughter. "I doubt the Masters will let anyone into the Council chamber with us during the meeting. Masters, especially those on the Council, are stubborn that way."

"Then they can wait outside for you." Atton grabbed her arm, halting her movement. His countenance was grave as she turned to face him. "What if the Sith ambush you on the way, huh?"

"Oh, if that happens, trust me, I'll send for back up," Nadira assured him, still smiling.

"I'm serious here. Any time you guys have one of these reunions, no one walks away alive."

She sobered. "I know. And that's why I'm not going to risk taking any of you guys down with me."

"Forget us! I'm not just gonna let you—"

His words died as she leaned forward, placing a kiss on his cheek. They both froze for a number of seconds. His eyes held wide and her cheeks blazed. It took a while before Atton could blink.

"Wh-what was that for?"

"In case I don't make it back."

The sense of urgency flared inside of him again. "No, you _are_ going to make it back because there's no way I'm letting you go alo—"

"Please. I'm asking you to wait here for me. If I'm not back in half an hour then you can come to get me."

With misgivings, Atton agreed. "If you're late, I'm gonna chew you out," he warned.

She nodded gratefully, before turning and striding for the Enclave. His eyes never left her for a moment.

"Don't be late," he whispered.


	12. The Siren's Call

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 12: The Siren's Call**

The Exile rounded the bend, freezing as the Jedi Enclave came into sight. When she had visited this world over a month ago, the Academy was in ruin, testifying to Malak's rage with its crumbling edifices, pockmark craters, and fallen monuments. Now, she could hardly believe her eyes—it had been rebuilt. Someone had been hard at work repairing the damage to the small Enclave. It did not win back its former glory, but Nadira's heart soared to see it standing strong once more.

Moving forward, she felt her pace quicken despite herself to the point where she was running. The main gate opened readily for her and she dashed inside, slowing only when she entered the courtyard. All the wings of the academy branched out from this point. At its center stood an elevated garden surrounded by a stone wall. While the tree in that garden had been reduced to a charred stump, a small sapling grew beside it. Young and delicate, even the stump dwarfed it, but its leaves were brilliant and green.

Nadira moved to the garden wall and collapsed onto it. "I never thought I'd see this place again." Laughing, she blinked back tears. "Battered and bruised, but still here…" Her eyes swept the courtyard with wonder. "Still here…" She bowed her head, desperate to compose herself before facing the Masters. But she could not contain the joy and hope she felt to be back, however desolate the Enclave had become. She took a breath, rising to her feet once more. "I'm home," she realized. That acknowledgement filled her with strength and confidence. Turning, she chose the hall that would lead her to the Council chambers.

As she vanished down that way, another figure entered the courtyard. Cloaked in a brown robe, hood drawn over her eyes as usual, Kreia strode to the path circling the garden. The blind woman sensed her surroundings effortlessly through the Force. "It has been some time," she thought aloud. As she paused, her memories drifted to her youth, to the years spent walking these halls, learning then teaching here. She moved to the garden wall as Nadira had, but instead, bent to sit atop its surface. "I cannot let you walk this path alone, Nadira," she breathed. "The years have not been kind to us both it seems. But perhaps now, they will see the truth at last."

Completely unaware of her mentor's presence, Nadira approached the Council chambers. As she drew closer, voices echoed up the corridor toward her.

"_It is not as it was."_

Vrook—his voice laden with sadness.

"_But perhaps that is for the best."_

Master Zez-Kai Ell had arrived as well.

A second later, Nadira emerged into the sun-lit Council room. The circular chamber, like the courtyard, was in disarray but still now stood in better condition than the Sith had left it. The three Masters stood at the other side of the room, turning as they sensed her approach. While Master Vrook scowled to see her spirits so buoyed, Kavar was the first to speak.

"We were wondering when you would arrive." Both his tone and smile were welcoming.

She bowed to the Masters. "I'm glad you all arrived safely."

"This moment has taken some time to reach us," Zez-Kai Ell began. "I imagine you must have many questions."

"Or perhaps you have come here for revenge," Vrook supposed, studying her through narrowed eyes.

Nadira sighed heavily, frowning. "After all that has transpired, Master Vrook, do you still think so little of me?"

"It takes more than a few acts of grudging charity to earn _my_ respect, Exile," he growled, eyeing her as though she were an intruder.

Nadira flinched visibly, blood coloring her cheeks. The other two Masters glanced at their colleague with veiled expressions of disapproval but he ignored them. For their sakes, she kept her tongue in check. "Down to business then, as it seems you already tire of my presence. Why were you all in hiding?"

"I see you have failed to grasp the nature of the enemy we face," Vrook said piously. "Where Jedi gather, Jedi die."

Nadira took another breath to calm herself. Vrook, though a good man, had the uncanny knack of sounding superior, patronizing, and disdainful to the people he _liked_. And to those he didn't…well, grudges, in her opinion, weren't things he handled well. And forgiveness took a miracle—one she did not expect even at death's door.

"But not just Jedi…" Zez-Kai continued, "_all_ things touched by the Force."

"The last Jedi Enclave was on Katarr, a Miraluka colony," Kavar explained. The mention of Visas Marr's homeworld captured Nadira's attention. "And all of Katarr was destroyed, all of the Jedi killed."

"Including Master Zhar. Master Vandar," Vrook added in a grave tone.

In that moment, Nadira felt a surge of sympathy and understanding for Vrook. _No wonder he's so furious with me. He's still grieving the loss of his friends._ They all had been very close. Being forced to carry on, to set his grief aside until later, would be difficult under the best of circumstances. And these were anything but.

"A Jedi doesn't care if he dies," Kavar went on. "Everyone does. But when we fight, when we sacrifice ourselves, it is for others, for the greater good."

"Our presence must not endanger others," Zez-Kai agreed. "And as long as we are visible targets, we are a threat to everything around us."

_So I've noticed_, Nadira thought sadly. "What happened on Katarr?"

"There was a gathering of Jedi on the planet," Vrook answered. "When we realized something was attacking us, we resolved to meet secretly to attempt to find this threat."

Zez-Kai shook his head. "Then…Katarr was no more."

"When we felt Katarr die, there is something we sensed," Kavar spoke, locking onto Nadira's gaze, "Something we'd felt once before. An echo in the Force. We'd felt it before when _you_ stood before us. Whatever this threat is, whatever this hunger, it is something tied to you, something you have experienced directly."

Nadira's confusion was apparent.

"This echo travels in the places where death has walked, where planets have died," Zez-Kai said. "Massacres fuel its power—the death of _life_ fuels it."

_And_ _I was still scarred by what I had witnessed_. "Why didn't you track down this threat?" Nadira asked.

"We have been trying for years without success," Vrook spoke wearily. "Whatever disturbance in the Force that would cause death on such a scale also clouds it from our sight."

Zez-Kai shook his head. "It is like a scream in the Force and finding its source is difficult. It has cast many echoes. So we sought out places touched by the Force, by such events. We went to Dantooine…to Telos…to Dxun…" Then he sighed. "…and some of us…just left."

Vrook straightened. "We thought the enemy would show themselves. They were Sith. That much was certain. But where they were striking from, we did not know."

"Well, the Sith have revealed themselves now," Nadira said, nodding. "We must ally if we are to stop them."

"No," Vrook answered immediately. "We will do as we have done—we will wait. There is nothing else we can do."

Nadira's eyes widened in disbelief. "But the enemy has revealed itself—we can fight back!"

He shook his head. "No, the true threat has yet to show itself. It is waiting for something—us, perhaps—to enter the war. We have seen their soldiers, the remnants of their fleet, but those are symptoms of the disease. It is more bait to attempt to draw us out."

Kavar could sense the frustration building in Nadira. He stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. Their eyes locked and the Master looked down at her, face carved in grim lines. "The actual battle is being fought through the Force, not with weapons of war. It isn't about the Republic anymore." He paused a moment to let his words sink in. He could see her confusion as she tried to process them. "Remember the attack on Onderon…you sensed the power of Dxun playing a hand there as well as I. Something was attempting to use the moon itself, to feed on it, to draw its power there. That's why you dispatched members of your team to neutralize the threat. They prevented it, but it was stalling measure. The next time will be critical."

"Then we must act to prevent it from happening," Nadira answered. She understood what Kavar was saying—more was at work here than just armies and weapons. The Sith were stirring the Force everywhere against them, till a black hole would emerge at its center, consuming all life and order in the galaxy. But inaction was even more deadly right now. "If they go unchallenged, we are letting them win. It's just a slower death. They're making headway without our resistance. We can't allow it to continue."

"If Jedi gather, if we wage war against these…shadows now, then Jedi will die," Vrook spoke up. "And we will die for nothing. Whatever this thing is, only those strong in the Force can defeat it. It knows this, and that is why it is killing us. If we die, then it _will_ win, no matter what fleet or weapons are brought against it."

"But if we don't fight, it is no different. Only in this scenario, we _help_ them win by staying out of their way. If as you say the battle is unwinnable, then we have nothing left to lose."

"It is _that_ sort of recklessness that led you to war with Revan," Vrook growled.

"And how many more worlds do you think would have ended like Dxun and Malachor if we hadn't gone?" Nadira retorted angrily.

"The Sith didn't happen to those worlds, child. You did!" he spat. "You want to know the legacy of your heroism? Your sister fell to the dark side and began the Jedi Civil War, ravaging countless more worlds!"

Nadira stumbled back, eyes glistening slightly. "So that's why you cast me out? You hold me responsible for Rína's fall? You think I enjoyed watching…feeling those worlds die, along with the death of every soldier and Jedi under my command?" she whispered bitterly.

"We cast you out of the Order because you had followed Revan to war. There was no other reason," Vrook insisted.

"No!" Zez-Kai Ell corrected. "There was another."

Nadira's eyes locked onto him. His own were filled with compassion and sorrow for her, and she clung to it like a life line.

"You had become different somehow. Changed… The war had changed you."

Kavar nodded sadly. "You were no longer a Jedi. But we could not tell you why—some explanations mean nothing unless the one who suffers comes to an answer on their own. What had happened to you was punishment enough…and the Jedi do not kill their prisoners."

"And if you had stayed, you would have changed us." Zez-Kai sighed heavily. "And that we could not allow."

Nadira's brow furrowed. "Changed you? What do you mean?"

"You already know the answer" Vrook said soberly. "You've noticed it in those who travel with you."

"My companions? What about them?"

Kavar began gently. "Have you noticed that when you act, others follow? Those that travel with you? They follow you without question, without hesitation."

"Against their instincts?" Vrook added. "And sometimes even against their sense?"

"It is because you are a leader," Kavar tried to explain, "but that still fails to grasp the meaning of what I am trying to tell you."

Nadira shook her head. "But I'm not a leader. Not a Jedi. Not a general. Not anymore."

"Perhaps not," Vrook said slowly. "But it is not that to which we are referring. Surely you are familiar with Force bonds. It is the bond that develops between apprentice and master, when one truly understands another. It is developed over time, through understanding of each other." He narrowed his eyes, shaking his head in bewilderment. "Yet you do it so _easily_ and we do not know why."

"You make connections through the Force and it resonates through those who travel with you," Kavar explained. "The resonance is even greater when they, too, are Force Sensitive.

Zez-Kai nodded. "Your actions affect others more than you know. You draw others to you, especially those strong in the Force."

"When you suffer," Nadira's Master continued, "their spirit echoes it. And when they are in pain, their pain becomes yours."

Ominous shadows clouded Nadira's heart. She didn't like where this was heading. And she could sense that neither did they. "How did this happen?" she asked quietly.

Kavar frowned sadly, grieved to see the fear behind her gaze. "We do not know. But… it is not the first time you have felt the weight of so many lives."

"And that is why the Mandalorian Wars echo within you still," Zez-Kai added.

Dark understanding began to dawn at the back of Nadira's mind. "So all those deaths at Malachor…"

"We did not cut you off from the Force," Vrook said nodding. "You were merely deafened to it because of the last battle of the Mandalorian Wars."

Zez-Kai nodded. "The screams of countless thousands, Jedi and Mandalorians, crushed by the planet's gravity, annihilated."

"Their lives still scream across the surface of that dead planet…" Kavar murmured. "…and within you."

Nadira's eyes widened in fear, staggered by the horrific clarity their words brought, answering questions she had been asking herself for a decade. She would have given anything at that moment to unlearn those answers.

Kavar grimaced in agony for Nadira. "To hear the Force over such pain…it is not possible. It was too much for any Jedi to endure…and it is a wonder that you didn't die there when thousands perished, all those you had fought with and struggled with. You cut yourself off, because you had to do it if you were to survive. You had hints of it on Dxun. Malachor was simply the final blow.

Back in the courtyard, Kreia gasped as she eavesdropped on Nadira's thoughts.

"_You were deafened," said Vrook._

"At last you could hear," Kreia murmured.

"_You were broken," said Kavar_

"You were whole."

"_You were blinded," finished Zez-Kai._

"And at last, you saw."

Still unaware of Kreia's presence, Nadira was reeling. She'd felt more alive entering the Jedi Enclave than she had for a decade. Now she was back to feeling numb.

"When you returned to us," Vrook continued, "we saw what had happened. You carry all the deaths at Malachor within you, and it has left a hole, a hunger that cannot be filled."

"In you," Kavar said, "we saw a wound in the Force."

"In you, we saw the death of the Force," Zez-Kai finished.

The Exile shook her head, confused. "But…that makes no sense. I can feel the Force again."

Vrook nodded grimly. "Yes…you can feel the Force, but you cannot feel yourself. You are a cipher, forming bonds, leeching the life of others, siphoning their will and dominating them. It is the teaching of these new Sith, to feed on others, on other Force Sensitives. They are symptomatic of the wound in the Force. You are a breach that must be closed. You transmit your pain, your suffering, through the Force. Within you, we see something worse than merely the teachings of the Sith. What you carry may mean the death of the Force…and the death of the Jedi."

Nadira blanched, feeling as thought she was suffocating. "But I can feel the Force strongly." She prayed their allegations were wrong. They had to be wrong! She would never do these things! She would never wish anyone's death!

"So you think," Vrook retorted. "It is not the strength of a Jedi you feel."

"He's right," Zez-Kai agreed solemnly. "It's all the death you've caused to get here. You feed on it and you grow stronger." At his words, Nadira fell to her knees. "You're like Malachor…it's in you, it's what you are now. You must have noticed as you fought across all these planets, killing hundreds—only to become more and more powerful. Why do you think that was?"

"But what's worse," said Kavar, "is that bonding you have—it hasn't gone away. It's gotten stronger, and the more attachments you form, the more you draw others to you."

Vrook nodded. "And that is why you are a threat to us all."

"A threat?" she barely whispered.

"What if another Jedi went to war as you did," he responded, "suffered the same events and emerged as you did? What if there was a crucible to train such Jedi to consume and kill?"

"For you, Malachor was that crucible," Zez-Kai said.

Kavar hung his head. "What's worse is these Sith that we face…I fear that they have learned the lesson of Malachor all too well. It is what allows them to become stronger when Force Sensitives are near."

"Somehow, they have learned their hunger from you," Vrook accused her. "And so you have brought about the end of the Jedi, and perhaps all the knowledge of all the Force. But it is of no consequence." Nadira's head snapped up to meet his unforgiving gaze. "Your ability to make such connections, such bonds, so easily is why you cannot remain. You are a threat to living creatures, and all who feel the Force."

"Your presence will lead the Sith here," Zez-Kai added. "And that we cannot allow."

Nadira rose to her feet weakly. Breathless, she nodded at length. "Then I must be executed."

The Masters stood in shock for a moment at her proposition.

"The Jedi do not kill their prisoners," Zez-Kai said, shaking his head.

"Our judgment from before remains: exile. You must leave…and you must leave without your tie to the Force."

"It won't hold. It's not going to be enough," she said.

"We have the power—" Vrook countered but Nadira cut him off.

"It's not a matter of power. I had lost my Force connection before and still managed somehow to gain it back. What's to stop that from happening again?" Her expression was now one of determination, struggling to hide bitter despair. "As long as I'm alive, I will continue to be a threat no matter how hard I fight it. I'd rather die than harm anyone else by living."

"The choice is not yours to make," Vrook declared. "I know it seems cruel but we are doing this for your own good. Trust in our wisdom—this must be done."

Nadira closed her eyes pained. _I don't know if I can go through this again…_

"Forgive us…" Kavar whispered, embracing her. "…but it is necessary."

She shuddered but stomped out her own fear. She could not let it have any control over her. Swallowing hard, she gave the barest nod. "I will submit to this punishment."

Kavar stood back, looking at her face, and she could see his sorrow there. "I'm so sorry."

"Me too," she breathed.

Then he stepped back as the other two Masters gathered around her. They placed her in Force stasis.

"Do not be afraid," said Master Vrook. "You will feel no pain, but this must be done. As long as you feel the Force you are a danger to those around you."

A tear trailed down her cheek. _This was not how it was supposed to end…_

"Enough! Step away from her," came the cry from behind.

_Kreia?_ Nadira tried to turn but was still caught in stasis.

The three Masters flew across the room as a Force wave hit them.

"Wha—?" Vrook gasped as they rose to their feet. He rushed forward but was repelled backwards again.

"Step away!" Kreia repeated the command, tone furious. "She has brought you truth and you condemn it? The arrogance! You will not harm her. You will not harm her ever again!"

All the Jedi had drawn their sabers by now. Kavar gaped at the old woman. "I thought you had died in the Mandalorian Wars…"

Kreia sounded surprised. "Die? No. Become stronger? Yes."

Vrook glared accusingly at Nadira, still frozen in place. "Is this your new Master, Exile? If so than you follow Revan's path. Her teachings will cause you to fall as surely as they did your sister!"

Nadira was blindsided. "What? You knew Rína? Trained Rína?"

But no one was paying her any heed as tensions rose.

"We sought to lure the Sith out…" Zez-Kai Ell stated, "…and now they have come to us."

Kreia straightened with indignation. "As you have come to pass judgment on her, I have come to pass judgment on you. Do you wish to feel the teachings born of the Mandalorian Wars? Of all wars, of all tragedies that scream across the galaxy?"

Nadira could feel Kreia's rage building. She began struggling to free herself. She had to stop her! She didn't know where this was leading, but it would not end well.

"Let me show you," the old woman continued.

"Kreia, no!" Nadira cried.

"…you who have forever seen the galaxy through the Force…"

"No! Kreia, stop!"

"See it through the eyes of the Exile."

"NO!"

In that moment, Kreia unleashed a torrent of Force energy, leveling it at the Masters, draining them of their life Force, bleeding them dry. They were no longer living, but neither were they dead. They had not rejoined the Force as one who dies ought, but their souls had been ripped from their bodies, leaving only empty shells in their place. And while Kreia's rage had purposefully spared Nadira, the effects were devastating. The bonds that connected her to the masters seared every layer of her mind. As soon as the stasis failed, she fell to the ground, severely weakened, consciousness fleeting.

Still enraged at the Masters, Kreia continued to vent her criticism of them. Nadira, immobilized, heard the old woman's voice swimming to her through the nightmare she'd fallen into.

"How could you ever hope to know the threat you have faced when you have never walked through the dark places of the galaxy—faced war and death on such a scale. If you had traveled far enough, rather than waiting for the echo to reach you, perhaps you would have seen it for what it was. There is a place in the galaxy where the dark side of the Force runs strong. It is something of the Sith, but it was fueled by the war. It corrupts all that walk on its surface, drowns them in the power of the dark side—it corrupts all life. And it feeds on death. Revan knew the power of such places…and the power in making them. They can be used to break the will of others…of Jedi, promising them power, and turning them to the dark side." She walked over to Nadira's side. "Did you never wonder how Revan corrupted so many of the Jedi, so much of the Republic, so quickly? The Mandalorian Wars was a series of massacres that masked another war, a war of conversion. Culminating in a final atrocity that no Jedi could walk away from… save one." She knelt by Nadira's side, looking down at her and placing a hand on her shoulder. Nadira was confused as her grip fell—it seemed protective, like she was attempting to comfort her somehow. "And that's what I sought to understand," Kreia murmured. "How one could turn away from such power, give up the Force…and still live. But now I see what happened." The old woman squeezed the Exile's shoulder gently. "It is because you were afraid."

Nadira could no longer hold on, slipping into darkness, the only mercy to be found in so much pain.


	13. Collateral Damage

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 13: Collateral Damage**

Atton had been watching his chrono tick down with dread. A timer buzzed. His face was grim as he shook his head. "Time's up." He gathered the crew into the supplies room.

"Atton, what's going on?" Bao-Dur asked, eyeing him in confusion as the pilot began passing out weapons.

"Nadira's not back," Atton replied simply, finishing with arms and beginning to issue body armor and shields. "So I think it's time we checked in on our friendly local Exile."

Mical eyed him with disbelief. "Atton, it's just a meeting with the Masters. She can handle herself. Even if things do go awry."

Atton looked at Mical shaking his head impatiently. "Visas," he said, still looking at the Disciple, "care to inform the crew what happened the last time the Jedi gathered anywhere." Then he turned back continuing to arm the others.

Visas stiffened, but nodded. "The last known gathering of the Jedi was on my homeworld of Katarr. The Sith were drawn to them. The Dark Lord left nothing alive on the planet. Save me."

"Why you?" Mira asked.

"Nadira believes somehow he is connected to me as she is connected to Master Kreia," the Miraluka answered.

"Where is she, by the way?" Mandalore questioned glancing around.

"Who cares?" Atton growled. "Probably off sulking as usual—" Then he froze, eyes wide as he straightened.

"Atton?" Bao called out to his friend. "Atton, what is it?"

"Not good," he mumbled, bursting from the supply room abruptly.

Mical threw his hands in the air. "I really hate it when he does that."

But suddenly all of them hit the floor as a wave of Force stun knocked them unconscious. The droids too, servos tripped, subjecting them to hibernation mode.

Kreia shimmered into view, walking among the bodies, checking to ensure everyone was there. She scowled to see one missing. "That fool pilot is more trouble than he's worth. But he won't be a thorn in my side any longer." Casually, she stalked to the cockpit.

Atton had just reached the nose of the _Ebon Hawk _and ripped his jacket from the pilot's seat. Hand reaching into the pocket, he grasped the commlink. He had to warn Nadira!

Suddenly, a surge of lightning threw him forward against the consoles, wresting the commlink from his grasp. He barely had time to shake his world back into focus before he slammed into consoles again. And again. He swatted in futility at empty air. Then, his body rocketed to the durasteel-plated floor. His cough spat up blood—from the gashes his teeth had carved inside his mouth and other injuries he didn't care to think about just now.

A figure in brown robes and hide boots walked into his field of vision. His rage stirred.

"Traitor!" he spat furiously.

"You're one to talk." Kreia sounded almost amused. She raised him into the air with a thought, suspending him there immobilized. He fought against it in vain.

"So, what is it? Nadira told you to shove your advice, so you're taking care of us for her anyway? Afraid she'll get too attached to us, is that it?"

"The Exile has a hard time discerning wisdom when she hears it, yes. But I cannot allow you to interfere with my plans for her. Her meeting with the Masters went as well as can be expected. But they've all been dealt with. Now, she must follow the path I've prepared for her."

Fear gripped Rand's heart. He had thought Kreia was still on the ship when he sensed the threat she posed. "What have you done to her?"

The old woman's head tilted in mild surprise. "What does it matter to you?"

Atton cursed, insulting her every way he knew. "What have you done to her?" he demanded.

"Ah," she mused slowly, "it _does_ matter to you. Interesting. Could it be that a fool like you has finally found someone you care about more than yourself?" She paused, contemplative. "The Masters were more right than they knew—her powers grow strong indeed. That is good."

He bristled, apprehensive at her revelation. He _refused_ to let her use this against Nadira. Kreia had seemed to forget his presence for a moment. He took advantage of the reprieve, attempting to manipulate the Force. Lifting the repair kit behind Kreia, he prepared to launch it at her head. Maybe that would knock her out, or at the very least distract her long enough for him to attack her.

"Your attempts to neutralize me are amply amusing," she commented without turning to see the case of tools floating behind her. It crumpled in a ball of metal smaller than Atton had thought possible, then fell uselessly to the floor. "You have learned to utilize your Force potential sooner than I thought you capable of. Curious… Perhaps you are less the fool than I thought." She paused, refocusing her attentions on him. "But it's of no of consequence now."

Atton's throat began to constrict. He tried to refrain from giving her the satisfaction of watching him gasp pathetically for air. However, his body's instincts soon overrode his defiance.

"You will not hinder my training for Nadira anymore," Kreia said.

Her voice drifted to him as his vision started to tunnel. The last things he remembered seeing were white clad figures around Kreia as his body hit the floor.

When Nadira came to, she weakly tried to rise to her feet. Tried and failed. At length, she dragged herself over to Master Kavar and checked for a pulse. Nothing. He wasn't breathing either. Quickly checking the others, she found the same. They were dead—no, not dead. Death was at least natural in some respects. This… this was anything but. It was as though their spirits had been siphoned from them, torn away instead of the peaceful transition of becoming One with the Force.

Horrified and overwhelmed, Nadira emptied the contents of her stomach onto the Council room floor. On all fours, broken and helpless, she retched there for a moment until she had nothing left to give. Then the tears came. Their news had been devastating enough, and now this. She took in the gruesome scene before her, her fallen mentors…

_No!_ She turned away. Now was not the time for grief or regrets. Kreia had just killed the last hope the galaxy had to survive, and the Sith were still hunting her. Despair could wait. The enemy would not. Silently, she bid her former Masters goodbye, refusing to look at them or to consider how the Jedi would possibly survive now. She focused only on what needed to be done. Nadira rose unsteadily to her feet and checked her chrono only to fall prey to more fears. She had been out for two hours. And still she was alone with the corpses in the Enclave.

"_Please. I'm asking you to wait here for me. If I'm not back in half an hour then you can come to get me."_

Atton… he wasn't here. He would barely have been able to restrain himself to wait _that_ long to come get her, unless…

Nadira's heart nearly stopped and she tore off to the ship, praying every step of the way.

The Exile approached the _Ebon Hawk_, unable to sense any life signs aboard, but her Force senses were still muffled from the blow of her murdered Masters. Rushing aboard, her apprehensions rose as she found no one. No one guarding the ramp. No one in Med bay, the swoop bay, or the hold.

She raced to the cockpit and found Atton face down on the floor, blood trickling from his nose and mouth, arms and face bruised, and a commlink about six inches from his outstretched hand. Hardly daring to breathe, she inched closer, fear tightening its coils round her heart. She slowly knelt by his side, eyes fixed on his lifeless form. "No…" she murmured on the verge of tears. "…please, no!"

A groan emanated from his throat, followed quickly by a hiss of pain. Stirred by the sound of her voice, he slowly regained consciousness.

Nadira gasped in relief, throwing her arms around him, unable to hold back the tears. "Thank the Force! You're alive." She immediately poured Force healing into him.

"Unfortunately," he grunted, wincing in pain at her embrace.

She quickly released him. He sat up groggily, but focused on her.

"Are you alright?" he asked, looking her up and down. Her silence and struggle to maintain her composure did nothing to assure him. "Nadira, are you alright?" he demanded, trying to get through to her.

"I thought you were dead," she barely got out.

He pulled her to him, letting her rest in his arms for a moment, ignoring the pain it brought him. "When you hadn't come back on time, we were gearing up to go rescue you. I felt something happen to you—something horrible. Then that old crone ambushed us! I tried to link in to warn you, but she's quick for an old bag."

After a second, she pulled back, stroking the side of his face tenderly. She did nothing to mask her concern now as she had in the past, her eyes deep and unguarded. "Are you alright? Are you injured?"

"Just my ego but I'm sure I'll live anyway," he teased, trying to assure her. It didn't work. She looked at him, fear radiating in her countenance. "I'll be alright. This doesn't even scratch the surface of what I could handle. Frankly, I'm surprised the scow didn't do worse."

This relieved her somewhat. "Where is Kreia now?" She cast about.

"She's gone. The Handmaidens came for her," he explained, relating to Nadira the last things he remembered before losing consciousness.

"Where are they taking her?" Nadira asked.

The pilot hissed clutching his side as he shifted to lean against the navicomputer console. "They'll take her to Telos," he answered between gritted teeth until he settled. "And Atris will do what she'd do with anyone she thinks is a Sith."

"Sith?" Nadira gasped. She hadn't wanted to believe it.

"Are you really surprised?" he prompted, reading the denial in her features. "All that talk of hatred, manipulation, and standing on your own two feet?" He shook his head locking gazes with her sympathetically. "Sorry, you don't get any more Sith than that. Still, if we were all judged by who we were in the past, I don't think you'd understand who we are now." For a second he couldn't believe he'd found a reason to pity the hag who'd beaten him senseless.

Nadira's eyes widened. But not so much in approval, he noticed, as pain, fear and regret. They glistened slightly, worrying him before she nodded.

"You've come so far…" she murmured, voice wavering. "You've gained understanding and compassion for others. You consider motives and not just actions…" She sniffed. "You never used to do that." She tried to chuckle, but it was weaker than she'd intended. He could tell she was trying to affirm his actions, but her suppressed misgivings only served to fuel his concern.

"Nadira are you okay?" he asked. "What happened back there?"

"I'll survive," she insisted. "This is just a lot to take in. And now Atris has Kreia, or will shortly…" Her eyes darkened. "Atris will execute her…"

"Yeah…" Atton said nodding. "She will. If she can."

Nadira thought for a moment. "Kreia and I are still linked…" she murmured. "The pain was bad enough when she lost her hand on Peragus—as if I'd lost my own. And that connection has only grown stronger over this mission." She looked at Atton, eyes wide. "If…if Kreia dies…"

Atton swallowed hard. "Yeah…I know." He watched her look down at the bulkhead for a moment, floundering as she searched for what to do, trying to ascertain if there was, any longer, a solution to be found. "Hey." He reached out, gently cupping her face in his hands. Her eyes were drawn to his. "We're gonna get through this. I know we can. I'm here for you," he promised. "Just tell me what you need and I'll see it gets done. Anything. I'll help you out however I can."

She fought to keep her tears from falling both in joy and fear at his selfless offer. Biting her lip, she held silent till her voice was stronger. "We must follow her to Atris, and the Sith will not be far behind. They'll attack Telos—everything will be decided there."

He nodded, wishing it were not so, but remaining silent on that point. His sole focus now was to help the Exile in any way possible. He would not let her carry this burden alone. Stiff and still in considerable pain, he let none of it show as he helped Nadira to her feet.

"Where is the rest of the crew?" she asked, fear in her voice.

"They're in the supply room."

"They're on the_ Ebon Hawk_?" Her eyes widened with surprise. "When I boarded the ship and didn't see them on board, I feared the worst." She rose to her feet and went to check on the others. Atton followed close behind.

Everyone was unharmed, the extent of their injuries consisting of a bruise here or there. Regardless, the Exile insisted on checking them all to insure there were no surprises Kreia left behind. Bao and Atton looked over the droids for damage, while Mical and Nadira inspected the living crew members.

Unsettled by Atton's abrupt exit before, the crew now worried at Nadira's subdued behavior. Many asked what had happened, but she laughed it off convincingly enough. After taking blood samples from each crew member, Mical asked Nadira to assist him with the analysis in Med bay. Once the door closed, however, he set the tray of vials aside.

Grabbing the Exile by the shoulders, he looked her square in the eyes. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," she answered, "as long as these samples come back favorably."

"Master, I can sense something's going on." His answer was respectful but firm.

She shook her head. "It's just been a rough day. And then with Kreia's actions and abduction by Atris' Echani guard—"

"There's more to it than that." The Disciple's knowing gaze shone with concern. "You look troubled. And I can sense your distress."

Nadira's face darkened. "Can you?" She scoffed mirthlessly. "I don't doubt it." Shame dragged her gaze to the floor.

"That is an odd answer," Mical said, apprehension growing. "What do you mean by it?"

She didn't respond immediately. She didn't want anyone to know the horrible truths she'd learned about herself. But after a second, she relented. Her friends deserved to know. "I've been influencing you all without realizing it."

"I do not understand what you mean."

"Do you ever wonder why you're with me?"

The young Jedi would have laughed if Nadira hadn't been so distraught at the prospect of his answer. "Never," he assured her with confidence. But instead of calming her fears, this only stirred more doubt within her.

"Then why are you following me?" She lifted her eyes to his face with an effort. Silver trails on her cheeks shone in the light. "Do you understand why you attack who I attack? _Kill_ who I kill?"

He wiped the tears from her cheeks before grasping her shoulders again. "I follow you, feel as I do, because it is my choice. I believe in what we are doing—what _you_ are doing. I am here because I choose to be."

"But how do you know?" she breathed. "How do you know that the Force isn't just controlling all of this?"

"I simply do," he replied. "There is nothing I can show you as proof, except to give you my word." He could see from her reaction that this would not be enough. He paused, studying her with worry. "Something happened within the Enclave." It was not a question. She didn't confirm it, but her silence was just as telling. "What is it?"

She swallowed, attempting to banish the ghosts of the Masters from her mind. She couldn't deal with them now. The rest of the memories however surfaced in their wake. "I learned that I form connections through the Force—and…" she paused, "…and that's why others follow me to their deaths." The Exile slumped, shoulders bowed like a prisoner awaiting the executioner's blow. "That I am a wound in the Force, and as long as I'm alive, that wound will never heal." Her eyes, filled with bitter sorrow, locked numbly onto Mical's. "And I learned that all the deaths I caused at Malachor might cause the death of the Force—and of everyone around me."

A deafening silence fell, the somber air suddenly oppressive. Finally, the Disciple understood the pall hanging over her, as she hung between moments, waiting for the dice to fall. "Then they do not understand you," he said with unassailable confidence. "That is simply the danger of being a Jedi. When one separates themselves from others, choosing to lead a life of isolation, denying what makes them a feeling being, it is easy to make such judgments. And such judgments, I believe, are made in ignorance."

Her gaze lifted to his face. Studying him, she seemed undecided as to whether he was right or whether her influence had simply clouded his perception. He lifted her chin, meeting her eyes sadly.

"There is no danger in what you represent—other than your humanity. You change others, yes. But I do not believe it is due to the Force. I believe it is because you are a natural leader—and because you feel connected to the people around you. When others see a compassionate individual, who understands them, feels where they're at, they _want_ to follow them—they _choose_ to follow them—whether that friend is a Jedi or not.

"Where the Council looks at you and sees the death of the Force," he paused then whispered, "I look at you and see hope for all life." His crystal-blue eyes pleaded with her to believe him. "And that, perhaps, a life lived without the Force is not the punishment it is believed to be." He sighed heavily, the action laden with meaning, but she could not discern what until he spoke again. "I will understand if you feel you must go alone, but I would ask that you do not."

Her mind swam. He could see her intentions! No one had been able to read her like that—not since her link with Rína'd been cut.

He stepped back. "Instead, I'd advise you to take strength from your connection to others. Do not forsake them as you did in exile." With one last glance, he left her standing in Med bay, giving her time to think.


	14. Dark Revelations

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 14: Dark Revelations**

When Nadira finally emerged, the crew was waiting for her orders. She walked to the landing ramp and, without prompting, they followed her. Inwardly, she rolled her eyes. _Yeah,_ she scoffed. _I'm not controlling them._ As she stepped out onto the loading ramp, they gathered around her.

"So what's the plan, General?" Bao-Dur broke the silence.

The Exile met each of their eyes before speaking. "Kreia broke into the meeting and killed the Jedi Masters," she said gravely, but retaining her air of command once more. "While she attacked you here on the ship, Atris' Echani Handmaidens took her into custody. They've taken her to Telos to face Atris. Unfortunately, the Sith will probably follow her there. In order to destroy the last of the Jedi and Kreia, they will attack the planet, leaving nothing alive. That's why we're going after them. Telos is in a very delicate stage. The restoration of that planet is crucial to the Republic's survival. It cannot be allowed to fall. Saving Telos is paramount. Everything else is secondary. We must protect that world and its inhabitants at any cost." She paused. "So we're going to Telos…" She swallowed hard. "We're going to war," she murmured. After a second, she straightened. "And so, we're going to need every supply you can find: weapons, armor, ammunition, medical supplies, droid and ship parts, tools, food, everything. Between our needs and those we can lend to Telos during and after the battle, I need everything you persuade the vendors to part with. I want you to split up, half cover battle gear and weaponry, the other half medical needs and basic supplies. Hit every vendor you can. With all the credits we've collected over our trip, you should be able to gather everything that we need. If you think it'll be useful, buy it—I trust your judgment." She paused. "I am sorry to ask so much of you, but you've never failed me and I know I can count on you. While you guys are on reconnaissance, I'll be searching Kreia's quarters for any clue as to what her next step was. We leave in forty minutes, ready or not. Make sure you're back in time. Any questions?" Her friends all shook their heads. "Alright, see you back in forty." She began stepping up the ramp as her friends took off into Khoonda, Dantooine's spaceport capitol. All except Atton. The pilot stepped closer a minute and clasped her arm.

"Atton?" she asked, concern in her eyes. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright." He spoke in a low voice, so that only she could hear.

Her eyes shone with gratitude as she met his. "I'm fine. Well, as fine as could be expected I guess—"

"'Cause I know that what you went through was huge," he added, not satisfied with her easy answer. "I know how close you were to Kavar. You haven't been the same since you got back." He paused. "Honestly, I don't think you've felt this bad since we've met."

She bristled at his words, but it melted away when she saw the worry on his face. She waited before replying this time. "I'll live," she answered honestly. "I _have_ been through more than I'm saying—I know you see it. I just can't think about it right now, or I could wind up getting people killed. I won't risk that. After this is all over, then I'll think about it."

He nodded in understanding. Stroking her face, he rested his forehead on hers. "Let me know if you need me. I'll be back soon." He moved to go but she held him there a moment longer. His eyes locked on hers, noticing how they fixed on him.

"Thank you," she breathed.

He nodded, kissing her cheek briefly. But as he pulled away, his lips came back wet with the tears she'd hidden. He gave no sign as he walked away, though, jogging around the corner. He froze the instant he was out of sight, using the Force to sense what she was doing. The Exile trudged despondently up the ramp and into the ship. She did not hurry as would be necessary in order to complete the search of Kreia's room before the crew got back.

Something wasn't right. He watched her closely before sighing and disappearing around the corner again.

As the ramp closed, Nadira struggled to keep from collapsing. When she'd steadied herself, she made her way to the cockpit. She froze as her eyes fell on the pilot's seat. Her hands brushed its surface gently before she sank into it. After a second though, she stood and instead leaned heavily on the control board. Her shoulders shook as she hunched over.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry." Rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of her robe, she activated the launch sequence. Following the checks she'd frequently seen Atton perform, she kicked the sublight engines into gear. She could sense her companions' confusion as they tried to reach her through their link. But she shut them out, focusing on guiding the _Hawk_ clear of the atmosphere. "I will never forget what you've done for me. May the Force be with you, my friends." She prepped the engines for lightspeed. The indicator flashed to tell her the hyperdrive engine was ready, and she closed her eyes. "Please be safe." But she hesitated a moment, her hand on the throttle. "I'm sorry Atton." As she pushed the lever forward, stars streamed past the viewport till they turned to endless silver ribbons.

Nadira shook, at the edge of her strength: physically and emotionally. After a second, she sank back down into Atton's seat, glancing back when cold leather brushed her skin. Atton's jacket still rested on the chair. She stared at it, unable to breathe. Finally, she pulled the jacket off the back of the chair, draped it over her shoulders, pulling it tightly around her, and curled up into _his_ seat. Drops fell freely down her face now. She didn't have to be strong for anyone now that she'd left them behind. The leather jacket smelled like him, and she didn't know whether it was a greater comfort or torture to have such a poignant reminder of his presence. She only prayed he would forgive her someday for leaving him behind.

"I gotta say, I didn't think you'd do it."

Nadira leapt from the chair and spun. There he was, expression grave. The Exile stammered, unable to speak around the lump in her throat for a moment.

"You're here…" she murmured

"Yeah," he answered, taking a few steps toward her.

Shock slowly turned to anger. "What are you doing here?"

"I knew you were up to something," he answered taking her frustration in stride. "I didn't know exactly what, but something was definitely wrong."

"You were supposed to be gathering supplies with the others!" she blurted furiously. "None of you were supposed to make it back in time. Especially you! You were safer that way!"

He froze at the level of her anger, not wanting to agitate her further.

Exhausted, she collapsed into the seat, head in her hands. "Do you have any idea how much danger you're in traveling with me?"

He quirked his eyebrow in amusement. "You mean other than our entire journey?" he asked pointedly. He shook his head. "You know, I don't get it. You aren't the type of person that's too stupid to ask for help when they need it. In fact, you're almost always lecturing others for being so foolhardy. So what in the galaxy could have happened in that Enclave to prompt you to leave us behind and march singlehandedly to war?"

She clammed up, fear entering her eyes again. He closed the distance between them, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Nadira, look at me," he spoke gently. Taking a deep breath, she met his gaze. "I trusted you with the darkest secret of my past. You accepted me even though I told you I'd been a Sith inquisitor. You've taught me hope and mercy." He caressed her face lovingly. "Please, I'm just asking you to let me return the favor."

She closed her eyes, melting into his arms. "I don't think you'll forgive me," her muffled voice drifted out as she dug her face into his shoulder. He grimaced, pained by her lack of faith in him. "I know that I can't forgive myself."

"You told me that no one is past forgiveness," he pointed out gently. She looked up at him with glistening eyes, a little more hope in them than before. He waited, as she grappled with the decision. At length, she gave a tentative nod. He smiled. "Tell me what happened."

She hesitated a moment, then tilted her head in thought. "I could show you," she offered.

His eyebrows rose. "Seriously?"

"Yeah."

Now he hesitated. "How?"

She lifted her hand to the side of his face, but froze halfway, doubt creasing her brow as she reconsidered. Then her eyes searched his. "Do you trust me?" she asked, a hint of pleading in her tone.

In answer, he simply grasped her hand and pulled it the rest of the way, his eyes never leaving hers. She beamed for a moment before shifting her grip to clasp the back of his head. Her piercing gaze seemed to bore deeper and deeper into him until he no longer saw the Exile before him. He was surrounded by the Jedi Masters. He started in surprise. He was seeing her memory, from her vantage point. He smiled, shaking his head in astonishment. "Okay, I want you to teach me how to do this next."

She chuckled at his observation for a moment. Not only was she focused on reliving the memory for him, she was also carefully studying his expression, fearful of what his reaction could be. Living someone else's experiences was disorienting enough for an individual, but she knew better than he did that he would not like what he found there.

"Vrook's in a pleasant mood as usual," he scoffed. "No wonder they gave him that seat on the Council. It would drive any student to the dark side just to be his apprentice."

"He can be…stern," Nadira acquiesced hesitantly.

"Stern?! It would be cruelty to subject a youngling to his charming people-skills." After a second, he refocused on what the Masters were saying.

"_Surely you are familiar with Force bonds. It is developed over time. Yet you do it so easily and we do not understand why."_

_Force bonds?_ Atton thought. He considered the Force bond between himself and the Exile. He'd only had a Force bond with one other—the Jedi who'd saved him—and it had been weak before she died. It didn't even begin to touch the connection he shared with Nadira.

"_You make connections through the Force and it resonates through those who travel with you."_

Nadira's former Master, he realized through the familiarity he sensed in her. The third Master nodded.

"_You draw others to you especially those strong in the Force."_

Atton's brow furrowed. No, it couldn't be true. Nadira would never… But he could sense from Nadira—both in the memory and in the present moment—feelings of fear, anguish and guilt. This aura radiating from her gave him pause, reawakening doubts that for some time had been silenced. Old fears began to revive, threatening the deepest betrayal of all.

"_You are a cipher, forming bonds, leeching the life of others, siphoning their will and dominating them," pronounced Vrook._

Atton's face darkened. Nadira saw how unsettled he was by the confusion in his eyes, slowly eclipsed by fear.

"I've seen enough," he said, voice grave.

Her heart rose into her throat. "Please, Atton…"

"_That bonding you have—it hasn't gone away. It's gotten stronger, and the more attachments you form, the more you draw others to you."_

"No, we're done." His curt tone held a warning.

"Please, at least see it through to the end," she begged.

His eyes became hard, narrowing in suspicion. "We're done. Let go of me." He started pulling back.

"_And that is why you are a threat to us all," Vrook concluded._

"Please, just—"

"I said enough!" he shouted. Wrenching free, he grabbed the Exile's hand and shoved it away from him. He backed away warily, eyeing her with fear and hurt.

Nadira had been in the process of releasing him. She would not hold him against his will. But before she could prove this, he'd pulled free of her grasp, recoiling from her presence. Her heart seared from the way he looked at her now. A sob escaped her lips as she stumbled back, collapsing into the pilot seat once more. She exhaled heavily, staring into the distance with a shell-shocked expression.

"Is it true?" he demanded in a whisper.

She didn't answer, hardly knowing the truth herself.

Her silence cut deeply into Atton, thinking her hesitant to admit the truth. _Just like all Jedi_, he thought bitterly. That's why he hadn't trusted them in the first place, why he'd defected to Revan's side during the Jedi Civil War. The reason he'd enjoyed doing what he'd done. _"Jedi lie,"_ he'd once told her. "You've been controlling us?" Atton began when he could even find words to speak. "That's how you got us to go along with you all this time?"

"I didn't know it was happening—" Nadira mumbled.

"Didn't—" he sputtered furiously. "How could you not know? You can't bend someone to your will without knowing it! These bonds you've created with us, they're what you use aren't they?"

"I'm not sure."

He stormed over to her, picking her up by the shoulders. "You forced these links, these connections on us since the very beginning, stringing us along for the ride so we'd serve as your personal body guards."

"No." She shook her head desperately.

"'No?' You just said you didn't know. Which one is it, Nadira?"

"I didn't know. I'd never harm you."

"Right now I'm not so sure of that!" He dropped her back into the seat and began to pace, rubbing the back of his neck. "All my life being manipulated by the Republic, then the Sith, I finally escape only to get snared by you." He pointed at the Exile, paralyzing her with a furious glare. He turned to face her crossing his arms. "So why'd you do it? Huh?"

She tried to find something to say, anything that would exonerate her in his eyes. If no one else believed in her, he would be enough. But she couldn't even convince herself, and in her heart she knew she deserved more of his wrath than he was showing. "I swear, Atton, I didn't know about the bonds, or the influence they have. No one ever told me."

Atton looked into her eyes. He wanted to believe her, but he couldn't trust her. Trust was for dupes and the weak. He should have known never to have let his guard down. The man shook his head. "Is that the truth or are you just using your influence to convince me now?" he asked quietly.

She bowed her head to hide her tears. And he was fighting to mask his pain and sorrow with anger. "Do you have any idea what this bond has done to me? I'm starting to care about things that'll get me killed, to change until I don't even recognize myself anymore, to lo—" he cut himself off. "To lower my guard to your suggestions like the assault of death on Dxun, the painful memories on Korriban, the fear of letting someone too deep under my skin." He walked over to her. "I trusted you! …I—I cared about you. I told you things I'd never spoken aloud before—do you know what that means?"

Her shoulders shook, fragile frame bent under the weight of their shared pain.

His eyes, red and glistening, fixed on her though she could not return his gaze. He swallowed to keep his voice in check. "And now to find out it's all a lie, some strange impulse you've planted into my subconscious to take advantage of whenever it's most convenient for you?"

She didn't respond. She couldn't, really—with how she was trembling, he knew she was crying. He wanted desperately to recant, to take back everything to spare her the pain. And this instinct only enraged him further. "You know, we all thought Kreia was the traitor. But you're even worse. At least that hag was honest about the game she was running. You," he spat, "made us…made _me_ actually believe you cared." With that, he stormed out of the room, as much to hide his own heartache as to avoid her tears.

A rumbling thundered through Khoonda. Mical froze at the sound. The others spun on their heels. At the sight of the _Ebon Hawk_ rising out of the spaceport, they issued cries of distress and confusion, rushing back towards the hanger. Only Mical remained behind, unmoving. The Disciple's head dipped, a sad sigh escaping his lips as he closed his eyes in regret. "Safe journey, Nadira," he murmured. "Until we meet again."

After a while, the crew filtered back to where he waited. As they approached, he could hear their bewildered exchange.

"I don't understand," Mira said. "We had thirty-two minutes left. Why would she leave so early? And why would she leave without us?"

"There would have to be a major reason," Mandalore grumbled. "She's no idiot. And even an idiot knows not to march into battle without your backup."

"It was something she discovered in the Enclave," Visas said. "Either from Kreia or the Masters."

"There you are, kid." Mandalore punched Mical's arm, nearly knocking him over. "You knew she was going to do that, didn't you?"

"I feared she might," Mical confessed, "but I didn't know for certain."

"So why?" Mira asked as she crossed her arms, clearly irritated that they had not been told. "If you knew she would run, then you know why."

"It's not my place to discuss what she has chosen to keep secret."

Mira cursed angrily. "Come on, Mical! That's a load of bantha poodoo and you know it!"

Even Mandalore appeared agitated. "She abandoned us on this rock without a reason or a means to reach her, Jedi. If we're going to be stranded here, high and dry I think we at least deserve an explanation. You, Iridonian. You served with her during the war, you know how her mind works. As well as anyone can tell what a woman could be thinking. So tell us, why did she leave us behind?"

Bao-Dur was the only one who hadn't spoken, but now his eyes narrowed with barely veiled fury. "If you think that I'm going to betray her confidence to tell someone like you, you are gravely mistaken," he said in a dark tone.

"She's afraid."

"Visas," the Disciple hissed in disapproval.

"I am not divulging secrets the Exile thought important enough to keep," she explained to Mical. "I'm merely voicing my observations as to her behavior. I do not know what or why, but something gravely distressed her." Marr's voice was calm and thoughtful.

Mandalore tilted his head to look at the Miraluka as he considered her words. "So what could possibly have scared her so bad to risk a suicide mission. She's good, but even she can't survive the entire Sith fleet by herself."

"The only way we can find the answer to that question is to book passage to Telos," Mira reasoned.

"Good plan," Mandalore agreed. "I'll take the spaceport, you hit the cantina."

"I'll check with the local merchants," Visas added. The three went off in separate directions leaving Mical stammering in protest for a few minutes before he gave up, hanging his head with a frustrated sigh.

"You feel the same as they do, and you know it." A voice drifted to the Disciple. "You think she's making a mistake too. And you're just as eager to follow after her."

Mical sighed again. "It's not my decision to make, Bao-Dur. She left us behind for a reason."

"I know that reason," the Zabrak replied. "Regardless, it was a reaction. Something she does not do often. She may believe she's reasoned this out, but her situation is not one that can truly be reasoned out of. Especially when she feels she cannot trust herself."

"If she feels she has been compromised…"

"Do you believe she has been?"

"No, of course not. I asked her to reconsider." Mical shook his head. "But precious little good my reassurances did. I imagine Atton is going to be beside himself when he finds out she's left." He glanced around. He didn't particularly want to be the one to inform Atton that Nadira had marooned them on the farm outpost. But someone had to do it, he supposed, so he could cool off sooner rather than later when he rejoined the group. Better to get this over with. "Did you see which shop he went to first?"

Bao-Dur smiled. "Atton? Oh, I'm not all that sure he even left the ship in the first place."


	15. Brokenness

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 15: Brokenness**

Atton was pacing the corridors of the _Ebon Hawk_. Stealthed, of course. The last thing he needed was that Jedi discovering him wandering the ship at this hour. Even distracted, his steps made no sound, his mastery of stealth so innate that, had he been visible, one might mistake him for a ghost. He had to think and he didn't want to be interrupted by Nadira.

As he moved through the hold, he saw a light out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see the Med bay door open and lights on. Instantly, his senses went on alert. The Exile had left the rest of the crew on Dantooine, and Mical had been the only one to spend any real time in that room. Nadira had gone to bed an hour and a half ago so there was no reason for her to be in there. Either they had a stowaway, or…Atton's eyes narrowed, lips forming a tight line…or _she_ was up to something.

He crept cautiously over to the door, lightsaber in hand but not activated. He chuckled bitterly, not sure what he would do with it. She was easily five times better with saber combat than him even if he could find the will to use it against her. Which he doubted, he realized swearing inwardly. _Curse this power she holds over me! Kreia's act hadn't been half as convincing. And I fell for it just like that! Didn't even bother fighting it for long._ His heart burned with rage and disgust, aimed with equal vehemence at himself and his betrayer. _Well, you won't trick me this time_, he thought, raising his chin defiantly.

Still cloaked, he peered around the door frame.

Nadira sat on the examination table in her tank top undershirt and pants, outer tunic lying on the table beside her. Shoulders slumped, it appeared that she'd paused to catch her breath. Then, his eyes widened in shock as he noted the collar she wore. _A neural inhibitor?_ _When did she put that on?_ he puzzled. _And why? Wouldn't it be dangerous for her to suppress her Force powers with so much waiting for her on Telos?_ Though confused and suspicious, he also felt a measure of relief. Now she couldn't mess with his mind before he could safely escape her. But her movement drew his eyes as she reached to pull bottles of solution from the counter.

Nadira injected herself with a serum, face contorting painfully. His brow furrowed. She wasn't grimacing from the injection—her threshold was too high for that to bother her.

She mixed a vial of some bluish-white liquid with a poultice she'd prepared already. Mixing it thoroughly, she then set it aside and pulled the straps of her tank top to the edge of her shoulders. As she pulled her hair to one side, Atton stiffened at what he saw. Hair and straps out of the way, a good portion of her upper back was visible now. Almost every inch of skin was marred by a multitude of scars, testifying to a number of different abuses suffered. And the former Sith inquisitor recognized them all. Whipping, brand marks, sword blades, saber burns, along with the tell-tale sign of other unspeakable tortures. But among the horrific collage, one stood out. His blood froze as his gaze fastened inescapably to the wound. _Destiny's Vengeance…_ He'd rarely used the technique himself. It was too destructive and physically limiting to the target. His job had always been to capture, break, and convert the Jedi assigned to him. This form of torture was aggressive in its physical debilitation. Often the prisoner was rendered useless to the Sith. Most to undergo the experience died within twenty-four hours. There were treatments to keep them alive for several days, but required constant supervision. No prisoner subjected to this punishment had ever survived a full week.

He blinked hard, but it had not disappeared. Heavily infected, the wound had grown in size since she'd received it. _But that makes no sense_, he thought, bewildered. _All of her scars are old—very old. And she received them all at the same time._ He studied the wound a few seconds before nodding in astonishment. _This one too… How did she get this? And how is she still alive?_

Nadira placed a substantial helping of the poultice onto a cloth, pausing as she inhaled deeply a few times. Once she'd braced herself, she reached an arm awkwardly over her opposite shoulder to place the poultice on the wound. Her jaw tightened and she barely checked a jerk as the medicine touched the infected scar. Forcing herself to continue, she fought to finish applying the balm. After she was done, she dropped the cloth, hands moving to grip the table. She swayed for a moment, struggling to ride out the waves of pain.

Guilt washed through Atton, wishing he could do something to ease the anguish oppressing her. But he stomped down on those feelings. _She's just using you_, he reminded himself. _Trying to control—_ But he caught sight of the Force-inhibiting collar around her neck. She couldn't exploit their bond, not while she was wearing that device. He wondered if his instinct could be a residual effect.

A hiss escaped her as the pain tested the limits of her strength. He flinched at the sound, watching her body tremble from the strain. He could see how she struggled to contain every ache, every fear, every scream that threatened to burst from unwilling lips. A gruesomely familiar picture, and the memories it dragged with it were painful. But here, there was no attacker to resist, no tormentor to defy by hiding her battles inside. Yet she did anyways. After a second, he shook his head, letting his stealth field drop.

She didn't notice him approach, focused only on dealing with her pain. He picked up the cloth from where she had dropped it and studied her back. Her wound was close to the center, difficult to reach without help. Seeing a portion untreated, he placed a hand on her shoulder. The pain would be intense—she would need to be ready.

Nadira cried out and nearly fell off the table as she whirled to see Atton. Her eyes went wide, face draining of what little color it had left before she turned away from him, head bowing in shame.

"You missed a spot," Atton said quietly after a minute. "You oughta brace yourself."

Unable to speak, she could only nod. At her acknowledgement, he carefully moved to apply the balm. He grimaced at her sharp gasp when the solution touched her scar, but continued to work, moving as quickly as possible. Once he'd finished, Atton placed the cloth down on the table.

The silence that followed was palpable. Unmoving for a second, his eyes never left her. Everything inside him wanted to comfort her; yet still he fought it. He had to know if she was for real—to know if he could trust her—if he could trust in anything anymore.

"Maybe you didn't miss as much of the Jedi Civil War as I'd thought," he mused.

She only shuddered and slumped further in response.

His jaw tightened as he steeled himself. Then taking a deep breath, he willed his muscles to relax. Face smoothing in a convincing façade of indifference, he stepped around the table to where he was in front of her. Still, she did not lift her head. "I saw the light on as I was making the rounds," he offered, casually leaning back against the wall.

"I just needed to take care of something," she whispered.

"I can see that," he scoffed. "So how would you have happened to come by that anyways?"

"I try not to think about it."

"You mean you try to cover it up," Atton countered. "So is that what really happened before you came back from Malachor?" Nadira's eyes shot up to his face at that. "Your sister must have recruited you early on to catch you before the Council kicked you to the curb. In fact, maybe that was part of the plan. Revan would have made good use of a skilled agent she could trust. So, she took you in for retraining. When the Jedi exiled you, you fell off the grid and secretly worked for your sister till the war turned against her…"

The woman shook her head. "No," she gasped.

"…Then you needed to lie low till things cooled down back home. So you hole yourself in on some deserted world or other along the Rim. Five years is a pretty good buffer, first substantial steps in reconstruction would be underway. But I guess you didn't count on the Sith finding you so soon when you finally decided to stop cowering and show your face."

"No," she rasped with little more strength than before. "I never joined Revan. I never fell—"

"Didn't you?"

"No!" she insisted, eyes welling.

"Didn't the Masters say that those Sith chasing us were turned by the same battle?"

"Yes, but—"

"So what makes you so sure you're any different?" Atton demanded leaning forward a bit.

She shook her head, resisting the urge to shrink away from him. She gasped as another surge of pain from the wound pulsed through her body. "Please," she gasped, "please, Atton, I have to finish—"

"You don't like what I have to say, you make me leave this room."

"Atton—"

"No," he insisted, "you want me to leave you alone? Ditch the choker and kick me out."

"I can't do that," she protested, fear suddenly filling her eyes. One hand grasped the inhibitor around her neck.

"No! I know you have it in you," he insisted almost getting in her face. "You've endured this entire trip with that thing on your back without batting an eyelash. I know you've got that strength. So you want me outta here, use it. 'Cause either way, I'm not leaving this room until I know the truth!"

"No!" Trembling, she cringed away from him. As she turned, his eyes drifted to Nadira's hand on the inhibitor. In shock, he froze. Her fingers gripped the clasp in a white-knuckled fist. All the breath was driven from his lungs as he realized that she was not trying to remove it. Instead, her hand covered the locking mechanism, using all the strength she had left to ensure it stayed put. "…It's too dangerous…" He finally realized she was still pleading with him. "…I won't do it…" she sobbed.

He fell back to lean against the counter, speechless as he absorbed these new revelations. Rubbing a hand over his face, he watched her for a moment. Then he knelt in front of her, moving slowly so he wouldn't scare her. Brushing her hair back, he cupped her face, lifting her chin until her eyes met his. She didn't resist him, though he felt her muscles tighten at his touch. Using his thumbs to wipe the tears from her cheeks, Atton shook his head in wonder. "In so much pain and still so stubborn. How can you find such strength?"

Confusion entered her eyes at his change. But she didn't dare think he'd relented. "Are you here for revenge?"

His eyes closed, pained at her fear. He deserved it, he knew, for pushing her so far. But when his gaze lifted again, he could tell she hadn't asked to spite him. She spoke in earnest. "No," he replied, "I'm here for forgiveness."

The Exile's eyes widened. "You forgive me?" Her subdued voice rang with a measure of hope.

He hung his head, grimacing in self-reproach. With a slow motion, he shook his head. "No. I need to ask you to forgive me." The pilot reached for the collar around her throat.

"No." She backed away, fist clamping down even harder. A frightened cry erupted from her as his hand shot out, grabbing her shoulder with inescapable strength. Momentarily, she couldn't breathe until she realized he had saved her from hitting her injured back against the wall. Wide eyes met his and she slowly slumped as the surge of adrenaline began to dissipate. "Thank you."

"Nadira." He waited for her to look up again. "You don't have to wear this anymore." He gestured to the inhibitor.

But she nodded sadly. "Yes, I do. Remember what Master Vrook said? I siphon people's life force. Atton…" Her eyes locked onto his in regret. "…I'm a siren. I'm not even trying—I swear I didn't know…" Her gaze fell. "I'm not going to endanger your life."

He gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. "But then you can't show me the rest of what happened."

She looked up at him in surprise for moment before resolving against it. "It's not worth it…"

"I haven't earned it, I know," he said, easing closer to her. "But I'm asking you, please, to trust me on this." She tried to object again before his gaze caught hers and she stilled. "Will you trust me?" She didn't respond. "Do you trust me?"

At length, she nodded, misgivings still flaring in her eyes. His fingers trailed along the ring until he found the clasp. Eyes never leaving hers, he smiled gently at Nadira. "It's gonna be alright." The electronic whirring died out as he deactivated the magnetic seal, pulling the collar slowly away from her neck. She gasped, swaying slightly as all her Force senses rushed back to her. He dropped the collar, taking hold of her shoulders again to steady her.

She looked up at him as her world came back into focus. "I don't understand. Why?"

"Well, you're in enough pain," Atton replied shrugging. He relinquished his hold on her once he was certain she had her balance. "I figured a broken nose on top of it and you'll be crabby all the way to Telos."

She shook her head, though a small smile had surfaced. "Not 'why did you catch me'. Why are you doing this? Why do you trust me now?"

Atton sighed. "I should have trusted you before. I guess it took me a while to see the light. I've been told that I can be a royal pain like that."

The Exile glanced at Atton with worry as he waited her out patiently. "I'm not sure this is such a good idea." But his eyes never left hers. Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand on his cheek and stared into his eyes. She watched as his gaze lost its focus, his mind returning to the Enclave's Council Chambers.

"_And that is why you are a threat to us all," Vrook concluded_

"_A threat?"_ he heard Nadira's trembling voice. A stab of guilt panged through him. _She went through all that with the Masters and then to top it all off, I go and tear her a new one_, he thought grimly.

"_Somehow they have learned their hunger from you…"_

"_You are a threat to living creatures and all who feel the Force…"_

"_Your presence will lead the Sith here, and that we cannot allow…"_

"_Then I must be executed."_

Atton's eyes flashed back, focused in an instant.

"_Jedi do not kill their prisoners."_

"_Our judgment from before remains: exile. You must leave… and you must leave without your tie to the Force."_

"_It won't hold. It's not going to be enough. I had lost my Force connection before and somehow still managed to gain it back. What's to stop that from happening again?"_

Rand listened in astonishment to Nadira's argument as she pled with the Masters.

"_As long as I am alive, I will continue to be a threat no matter how hard I fight it. I'd rather die than harm anyone else by living."_

His hand shot up and grabbed the Exile's wrist. The memory fell away as his sudden move broke her focus.

"You wanted them to execute you," he murmured in disbelief.

She nodded solemnly.

"Why would you— How could you want something like that?" he sputtered.

"If I go on like this, everyone around me will continue to die. Some in battle, and others will just wither away as whatever it is that has happened to me, whatever monster I have become bleeds them dry!" Her body shook as she fought in vain to hide the fear that had been eating away at her ever since she'd walked out of that Jedi ruin. "When I cause a death, I don't just witness it—I feel it! So not only do I suffer the grief of losing those I care about most, but I die a little each day. They take that part of me with them, and I can never get it back. And the deaths I've seen could fill two lifetimes. What will I become when that finally takes its toll, huh? I would rather die than succumb to bloodlust, to end lives without reason or purpose other than to feed my own power. If I lose even one more person to this…" She fell silent, paralyzed by the thought, eyes clinging to him.

As he read their depths, the specific focus of her fear crystallized in Atton's mind. And her words since she got back to the ship mirrored it, playing back through his head.

"_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…"_

She feared for the crew.

"_May the Force be with you…"_

That's why she'd left them on Dantooine. The image of her face, frozen in horror, when she'd realized he was still aboard…

"_You're here…"_

She was terrified… for him.

"…I just can't. I can't lose one more." Her head dipped as she fought to suppress her tears.

Placing a hand on the side of her face, he guided her gaze back up. "Have you ever considered the possibility that the Masters were wrong?"

She let out a mirthless laugh. "A whole council full of Masters? Each one with knowledge, wisdom, and experience that I could never hope to attain?"

"And all of them just as capable of messing up as any one of us."

"At the same time?"

"They're all guided by the same logic," Atton pointed out. "They all decided to watch the war from the sidelines, and they were wrong about that, remember? They said they'd never seen another like you, so it's entirely possible they mistook the results of your abilities for this 'wound.' Think back to that holovid T3 found in Atris' system. They needed something they could deal with, something explainable, and your situation was too much for them to wrap that knowledge, wisdom, and experience around, that's why they banished you in the first place." She still looked uncertain. "Think about it, Nadira. If you were draining us of our life energies, how is it that under your leadership, your instruction, that we've grown stronger too. Not from the deaths we cause but from relying on each other." The woman grew still as she listened intently to his words. "You taught us that. We were all scattered across the galaxy, disillusioned and filled with bitterness. But you took that away. You gave us a purpose, a hope, something to fight for again. And they try to convince you that you've weakened us?" He chuckled softly. "Sounds like they've been taking Kreia lessons." That coaxed a smile out of the Exile. "Maybe everything's not so clear-cut as they prefer it to be. You're not the enemy." He paused, expression darkening slightly with regret. "And I'm sorry it took me this long to see that."

Nadira nodded slowly, clearly hesitant to accept a theory that denounced her leaders' conclusion. He watched her process his point, testing the theories out in her mind before she dared clear herself of the charges. After a while, she met his eyes in surprise. He smiled—he had won, tentatively at least.

"Hey, don't look so shocked," he said in mock insult. "I can be right about things sometimes too." He knelt and fished a canister out of the storage bin.

"No—I know… I mean I, uh," she stammered, then shook her head. "Thank you."

The pilot nodded, then stepped behind her again.

Her brow furrowed. "What are you doing?"

He paused showing her the label of the canister as he picked up the cloth from before. "Just a little something I keep handy. It's a special kolto mix. It should help with the pain a little bit."

He stayed silent as her cheeks colored a bit and she turned her face decidedly away from him. "Okay," she answered, but she would not look up.

He moved to her back, placing the gel over the wound. She jerked as the area pulsed again. He watched as her body went rigid, frowning as he looked at the horrific wound. As he began to prepare a bandage to dress it, he considered asking her about the injury. Then Atton stopped as he realized he'd cut the bandage unevenly. It would still fit, but it wouldn't lay flat when applied. He chuckled apologetically after a second. "I'm sorry, but your bandage may get caught on your robes when we do heavy fighting. I'm sure Mical will do better if we ever meet up—"

Nadira's head spun sharply at this. "No! He can never know about this!" she blurted. She then turned forward, head bowing again.

Atton paused. "Don't you need his help with this?"

"No," she murmured.

"Why don't you want him to know about it?"

"I didn't want _anyone_ to know about this. I didn't even tell Kreia," she whispered. Then she scoffed. "Though she may have guessed anyway… I guess we'll find out if she tries to use it against me in battle…" Her voice trailed off.

He hesitated, wondering what he should say. But as he thought over it, she gave a mirthless chuckle.

"I guess the tables have turned haven't they. My secret past. Your silent questions."

"As I remember it, your questions weren't so silent," he reminded her. She laughed in response. "Actually, I guess I was just not sure whether you needed someone to tell… or if someone with my kind of past could even be of any help."

She sighed deeply. At a prolonged space of silence, he closed his eyes, nodding in acceptance. He stepped forward to put the bandage in place.

"When the Jedi exiled me…" her quiet voice drifted back to him. Atton paused looking up. "…I started making my way out to the Rim. It took me a while, but I finally found a world to settle on… Heh, it was so far away, we—" She swallowed. "—the Republic didn't have a name for it. It was perfect. Isolated, and as far as I knew I was the only sentient lifeform on it." She shuddered. "The problem in being so isolated is no one notices when you disappear."

"Nadira, you don't need to remember this if you're not ready to—" Rand offered slowly as he finished the bandage.

"No, you were right. I need to tell someone." She paused, then added, "I would like to tell you."

Atton's brow furrowed for a second. "You're afraid to tell me," he corrected quietly.

"Not for the reasons you think."

"Then why?"

"I'm not the only one with pain these memories could dredge up."

He moved in front of her again, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Whether you tell me or not, just knowing that you have this—that you suffered this—that is what brings me pain. There's only one faction that could have given you this scar." He cast his eyes to the floor. "And I was one of them. Nothing will change that." He looked up at her. "But if I'm able to help you, that might help me make up for it. And knowing I could help you in some way, it makes the pain a little easier to bear."

Nadira nodded, eyes watering a bit. Taking a deep breath, she continued. "Well, they were making their way back in towards the Core worlds while I was heading out. I'd only just lost my Force powers and didn't prove much of a challenge to capture. I'd thought at first they must have recognized me. But their questions were strange. Asking me about Malachor and my sister. I was terrified they were going to hunt her down next." She looked haunted as that fear entered her eyes. "Apparently, that particular…injury has never failed to loosen a stubborn Jedi's tongue. Honestly, I'd rather not have been picked to serve as their first disappointment."

Atton cringed. "Sith don't take disappointment well."

"No," she agreed quietly. "They don't." She pushed those memories back down, taking a few deep breaths. "They'd had me as their prisoner for three weeks before they'd become that desperate. The next day there was attack." Her brow furrowed. "I never found out who or why. Frankly, I didn't care," she confessed with shame. "My cage was damaged in the explosion. I fought free, stole their ship, and only ever landed again to refuel and supply."

"I don't understand—that was ten years ago." Shaking his head, he stared at her with wide eyes. "How did you survive?"

Nadira tilted her head. "It was a combination of different things. First off, the infection is slowed to some degree when the midichloriens in a person's body are neutralized. The Force connection a Jedi has is very much a part of that torture. Also the people of my world, at least my race in particular, have some healing methods that are unique to us. Various other treatments I've come across can help take a bit of the edge off."

"How much?"

She shrugged. "Enough to do what I need to."

Rand's eyes widened. "But now that you feel the Force again…"

Nadira turned sober eyes to the floor. "The infection is accelerating—"

An electronic beep sounded, drawing their attention to the counter. The Exile's datapad sat on its surface, an alert strobing on the screen. Nadira snapped it up, looking at the display.

"What is it?"

"It's nothing," she lied, almost convincing him. But something was wrong. She seemed too assured of herself, too strong too quickly after reliving so much. She stood up gingerly, testing out her bandage. "Thank you for helping me with this—"

"Nadira, what does it say?"

She paused. "Nothing. It doesn't matter," she said casually, starting to walk away.

"It matters to me."

Nadira froze, then slowly turned to face him. Finding the conviction in his words confirmed in his eyes, she dropped the mask, looking very out of place. She was not used to being so open with anyone. As he recognized this, he marveled that she had confided in him at all. Sighing deeply, she handed him the pad. Pulling up the analysis she had performed, he read the results briefly, face darkening at what he found. "These numbers can't be right."

"No, they're accurate."

"But Nadira these—these levels aren't good."

"They've been like that for two days now." He looked up, distressed to find acceptance in her stance. "The toxins in my blood stream have reached a terminal level. Destiny's Vengeance will have run its course. I have four days, maybe five at the most. I just hope it's long enough."

"What, you're just giving up?" he blurted.

"Hardly," Nadira replied confused at his response. "Atton, I shouldn't have had this long. I shouldn't have had one year, let alone ten."

"But you can't just lay down and die because of a couple of numbers on a screen." Throwing the datapad back onto the counter, he grasped her shoulders. Fear and urgency colored his features as he pleaded with her. "You can't just surrender. You've gotta fight this."

"Atton, I can't fight this," she enunciated slowly, eyes watering. "I can barely handle the pain most days. It's hard to wield a saber when you begin to see double." Her head shook. "You think I want to give up? Have a glimmer of hope only to have it end like this? To lose… everything I've come to cherish?" Her eyes held him, lost for a moment. "I'd finally begun to live again." She lowered her eyes. "To have anything worth living for again," came the correction before she looked up. "You and I both know how this has to end, that there no treatment for Destiny's Vengeance, no cure, nothing. My fate is sealed." A sighed escaped her as she met Atton's disbelieving gaze with sadness. "I had lost everything: my sister, my Force sensitivity, my home, any semblance of belonging, only to lose what little dignity and self respect I had left. I had nothing. I was dead the moment they found me. It's just taken this long for my body to realize it."

Atton balked to see how deeply her captivity had affected her. _So this is the fear, the pain she's been hiding all this time_. This was it: the secret she'd locked away, entrusted to no one. As she turned to walk away, he tightened his grip slightly, holding her there. Her eyes pled with him to release her, unable to bear the humiliation she felt at her own weakness. _No time for shows anymore_, he thought, dropping his mind shields. He saw her pause as she sensed the change in him. Her eyes widened and breath hitched as she felt his echo. Not her doing. Something he had locked away, just as she had.

Atton stood close to her. His voice was quiet but he knew she heard every word. "That's exactly what they want you to think. I know. I was the same. Our best work would break our prisoners into believing the lies we planted in their heads: that they were broken, worthless, alone." His eyes fixed on hers desperately. "If we got our targets to that place, then we had won. And we relished it before moving on to our next victim." With his barriers gone, she could feel the shame he suffered at this, but something else was tucked carefully away there. She would not seek it out, but in a second she didn't have to. It emerged, cutting pain accompanying it for both of them, as Nadira realized the truth.

"Yeah," he murmured, face somber as he nodded. "I wasn't always the hunter. Once a long time ago," he swallowed, "I was the prey."

"The Mandalorians…"

"Growing up on your own, what few friends you form are your family, the only ones you can trust. As much as you can trust anyone," he whispered bitterly. "Those butchers, those monsters slaughtered most of them. And those they didn't," he shuddered, "would have been better off dead. Including me."

Understanding flooded the Exile's awareness. She had suspected something traumatic must have occurred to spark the vengeful bitterness he'd harbored when they'd met.

"When I joined the Sith I could always work it out. My hatred for the ones who did this to us was only eclipsed by the hatred I bore for the ones who let it happen. They deserved what I could do to them to repay the favor. I was broken…" His voice wavered, pained at his admission. "…so I broke in turn. And to quell my rage I became the same kind of monster that had ruined my life." His hands moved to hold her face again. "The Sith…" He hesitated. "…pride themselves on their technique. Certain things… certain methods are a closely guarded secret. And the irrefutable evidence, our… signature…" he spat bitterly, then took a deep breath, "is a part of prolonged psychological torture we inflict on our victims. Marked, to force the subject to believe that they are our property. That you belong to us." His eyes lifted again to hers. "You have to believe me: that is a lie! Only you can decide whether to make it true or not! Please, don't let them win over you."

Nadira stared at him in wonder before swallowing hard. Eyes shining, she nodded and gave him an appreciative smile. "I won't," she whispered, but a measure of strength had returned to her voice. "And I can take strength from know that you will be safe."

"You do remember we're heading into battle right?"

"No, _I'm_ heading into battle."

He sighed. "You still wanna leave me behind."

"Atton, I'll be going up against two Sith lords if not three."

"And how are you gonna hit them if you're seeing double?" Atton asked quietly. He was not upset, not frustrated, but patient, as though waiting for her to see the inevitable truth: he would not be left behind.

She seemed to realize this and looked up at him, pleading with him to see reason. "Atton, I can't… I can't do it." She paused at the unspoken question in his eyes. "I can't keep going if something happens." She scoffed in disbelief. "Kreia was right—you are my weakness." She bowed her head unable to hold his gaze at her confession. "If something happens to you…" She shook her head. "I refuse to sacrifice your life."

"Then I'll just have to make sure it doesn't come to that," he replied with assurance.

She looked up, eyes blazing that he could be so flippant. But she froze as she saw that he was perfectly serious. "Atton, you can't know that, and neither can I! It's too great a risk!"

He cradled her face in his hands. "For you," he whispered, "not for the Exile, not for the empath, not for the 'wound in the Force,' but for _you_…" He smiled tenderly, pressing his forehead to hers. "I'm willing to take that risk."

Nadira stared at Atton in amazement of his gentle strength. She couldn't hold it in any longer, falling into his arms as she abandoned the defenses she'd held for so long. Her tears flowed freely as she clung to him, broken and for the first time in her life not afraid to be so.


	16. Whispers

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 16: Whispers**

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
Meanwhile, On Telos…  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

A woman in white robes entered the dark room. Only a roil of hissing greeted her. This sound was a constant now, invading her thoughts and dreams, till she no longer remembered its absence. Waving her hand over a lumiglobe, the Jedi historian lit her meditation chamber. Though, it had stopped providing that function long ago. The room now served as an archive for the multitude of holocrons perched on pedestals lining the walls. Light spilling onto her form revealed white hair as pure as her robes pulled tightly into a bun, allowing no stray hair to hide her silver-blue eyes.

The young woman walked into the center of the room and froze. Her hand instinctively fell to the double-bladed saber clipped to her belt, the weapon that had once belonged to the Exile. _The one who betrayed us_, she thought bitterly, pained by the memory. Every time her fingers even brushed the hilt she was reminded of the saber's former-bearer. But she shoved those thoughts aside, searching for the trace she had felt a moment ago. Definitely foreign. Initially unsettling, then strangely not so.

"Who is there?" she asked.

"Who I am is not the question," a voice answered. A woman, and she sounded old. But the Jedi couldn't be entirely sure. Her uninvited guest had yet to step forth from the shadows.

"I am Atris, Jedi Master," she declared. "The last historian of the Jedi." Then she straightened her shoulders, chin raised high as she added, "the last of the Jedi."

"Those are titles," the stranger chided her, "words you cling to as the darkness falls around you." Then a figure separated from the shadows, as though she were born of them. But yet, even if such were true, she did not cringe back from the light either.

Atris' eye narrowed. "You are that which has attacked the Jedi," she accused in a low voice. "You are Sith."

"'Sith' is a title, yes," Kreia acknowledged, "but like you the title is not who I am." She dipped her head in the slightest, and while the hood hid them from sight, Atris could almost feel Kreia's eyes impaling her with a terrible knowledge. They cut past her defenses and her exterior shows, laying bare her darkest secrets. "It is not what I believe."

Atris' jaw tightened. "If you seek to make me question my allegiance, Sith, you are—"

"Your foolish denials will not convince me," Kreia cut her off. "Your recitations and apparent adherence to the Code of the Jedi may fool others, but I can see through to your heart, child. I can see the truth beneath that quite belies your convictions."

"Who are you?" Atris demanded, alarmed by the stranger's insight.

"One who has walked the very path you tread," she answered. "Know that there was once a Darth Traya. And that she cast aside that role, was exiled, and found a new purpose. But there must always be a Darth Traya, one that holds the knowledge of betrayal. Who has been betrayed in her heart and will betray in turn." She motioned at the blood-red holocrons still hissing around her, the primal sound undulating like the writhing of some savage beast. "You have bathed in the knowledge of the Sith. There is not enough truth in such teachings… but it will be a step for you."

As Kreia stepped closer, Atris lowered her guard. "How did you know this?" she asked warily. "How _can_ you know?"

"How I know is not important," Kreia answered. "It is only important that you acknowledge what you already knew to be true."

The younger woman's muscles relaxed as the elder's logic tightened its irresistible coils around her mind. In light of this argument, she couldn't see the point in hiding it any longer. "How did it happen?" she wondered aloud.

"Search your heart. It was never battle that called you or caused you to fall. Remaining behind, that is the choice that felled you. The repercussions of Malachor V have touched many things, and they cast their echoes still."

At the mention of Malachor, Atris immediately thought of Nadira. "So her betrayal caused this too, then? I will never forgive her. Malachor should have claimed her life for all the death she's wrought!" Her every muscle tensed, hands gripping the lightsaber so tightly she could almost shatter the hilt. "Why did she betray me?"

"You betrayed yourself," Kreia corrected sharply. "Do not blame the Exile." Then her voice softened. "And unlike you and I, there is still a chance _that_ one may be saved."

Atris disagreed, but didn't voice this out loud. Nadira Obsidian was beyond redemption. She didn't even deserve the consideration after all she had done. "Where is the Exile?" she asked, partly to distract herself. "I had thought—"

"Oh she will come," the old woman assured her. "But it will be too late to save either of us. It is such a quiet thing to fall. But far more terrible is to admit it."

* * *

A/N: Hey guys! Since this week's chapter is so short, I've gone ahead and posted the next chapter as well. Thank you all for your continued support! Having readers like you make a writer's day! :D Enjoy!


	17. Painful Truths

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 17: Painful Truths**

The _Ebon Hawk_ glided down through the Telosian lower atmosphere. Nadira gazed out the viewport. The transparisteel was whited-out from the intense blizzards of the polar region. The ship shook as Atton guided it through the turbulent winds kicked up by the storm. Then everything stilled as the _Hawk_ entered the safe confines of the hanger to Atris' hidden base. Once the ship's weight had settled on the struts, Rand began powering down the engines.

"So what's the plan?" He cast a glance at Nadira standing close behind him.

"Handle things with Atris and Kreia before the Sith armada shows up." Her tone seemed more hopeful than certain of her prediction.

He chuckled as he swiped up his weapons belt, examining blasters and sabers as he rose from his chair. "And hopefully this time we'll go the whole span of our tour _without_ being shoved into a force cage." He put the belt in place, drawing his blasters. "Alright, let's go."

Nadira's eyes fixed on him as she blocked his path. "No. I need you to stay here."

Atton stared at her dumbfounded. "I thought we already had this conversation."

"Atton—"

"No. Not a chance. No way am I letting you go in there to face a Sith witch and Jedi psycho by yourself!"

"It's not like that Atton," Nadira explained calmly. She'd anticipated his reaction. "I'm not leaving you behind to protect you. I'm leaving you behind to watch my back. We're by ourselves and we're being boxed in. While I'm inside, Kreia and Atris will take all my attention. And Darth Nihilus could arrive any moment. I need you to watch for him and alert me the second he enters the system." She looked at Atton, hoping he would see the logic behind her request.

But he was shaking his head, clearly unconvinced. "I don't like this plan, Nadira. So many things could go wrong."

"Do you have another idea?"

"N-not…really—" he stammered.

"I promise you, if I get in over my head, I'll send for you."

"You said that last time! If I went with you, we could avoid the matter entirely!"

"Atton," she breathed quietly.

He met her gaze for a minute then cursed under his breath. At length, he sighed grudgingly in acquiescence.

"Thank you," she murmured, placing her hand on the side of his face for a moment. "Listen for me through the Force. Use it to call me if you pick up Nihilus' ship rolling in."

"I will," he groaned, then frowned in concern at her. "Just… don't try too hard to be a hero in there, okay?"

She smiled. "I promise."

This seemed to satisfy him marginally and he sank back into the pilot's chair. Nadira picked up some med packs and an extra shield before exiting the cockpit.

Left to his own devices, Atton had little to do in Nadira's absence. Which left him to his thoughts and that was the last thing that Atton wanted. He shifted anxiously in his chair. He'd pressed to go mainly intent on protecting Nadira, though a fragment of him had wanted to go for his own sake as well. At least, then he'd be fighting, cracking witty comments or bantering with Nadira. Instead, he sat squirming in silence. He hated silence, especially waiting in it. Silence was ruthless in its impassive cruelty—it didn't allow one to hide from himself.

Worries he could push aside in combat flocked into his mind. Refusing to be dismissed, they surrounded him—oppressive, coiling through his consciousness and suffocating him, like roots breaking through rock. He shifted, running his hands through his hair. The single image that possessed him inescapably was the memory of Nadira's lethal wound, raw and unforgiving.

"…four days, maybe five…"

"…terminal level…"

"…the infection is accelerating…"

"…Atton, I can't fight this."

He stopped breathing.

"You and I both know how this has to end, that there's no treatment for Destiny's Vengeance, no cure, nothing."

The man cursed bitterly, wishing he had an enemy to fight, to kill, anything to vent his frustration. But how could he fight this? No amount of combat skill could save Nadira. Not from this, and he burned at his helplessness, raging against the growing sense of inevitability.

Grief and guilt began to consume him. How could he fail her so thoroughly? He had sworn to protect her from every threat she faced.

Rand hung his head. He had never anticipated this.

Rising to his feet, his fist connected with the durasteel wall. The metal buckled only slightly and his entire arm felt the shock of the unyielding panel. Yet a sigh of relief escaped his lips, the pain clearing his mind. He would not surrender. He would not give in, even if it drove him mad. He didn't care how much pain it caused him in the end—he would save her, no matter the cost. Determined, the pilot straightened. He'd asked Nadira to fight this battle and he would not let her fight it alone.

But how could he hope to save her? Doubts began to whisper in his ear once more. Atton knew better than anyone, you could not simply will suffering away. He didn't have the knowledge or the resources to defeat the death that was slowly claiming her.

The vilest twist of fate was that he knew she was wrong: there was a cure to Destiny's Vengeance. It had been a matter of necessity, should a prisoner escape and seek to turn the poison against its creators. But knowledge of the cure was a closely guarded secret. Even Darth Malak hadn't known of its existence, and only five Sith in all of Revan's armies had known its ingredients. Jaq had been entrusted with the secret of an antitoxin but not the process to produce it.

For this reason, he hadn't told Nadira about the cure. Without it, their only hope lay in Nadira's own will power. He had to convince her she could beat this, knowing all too well what would happen if she accepted defeat. She had to believe she could survive through her own strength and nothing else, or her resolve would depend on the gamble of circumstance. And why shouldn't their combined stubbornness pull them through? Like she'd pointed out herself, she shouldn't have lived a week and that was a decade ago. He only prayed that would be enough. He shook his head at the knowledge of how impossible that hope was. Yet he clung to it all the more. Because in the end, it was the only hope he had.

The base was strangely empty. The only sound Nadira heard were her own footsteps as she made her way through the corridors. Before, the small structure had held around twenty or thirty Echani handmaidens to assist the Jedi historian. But she encountered no one on her path to the audience chamber where she'd met with Atris on her last visit. The memories of their heated… debate returned to her as she crossed the room, past the center stone, approaching the only other exit. This way followed a bridge, leading to Atris' meditation chambers, she supposed.

Kreia had not been in the makeshift detention cell as she had been last time. And as every other part of the base was empty, she and Atris at least had to be in the room up ahead.

As Nadira crossed the bridge, a pall of darkness assaulted her senses. Was it—? Yes, it was coming from the chamber beyond. And there was a low whispering sound, like the hissing of a hundred Drakian eels fighting over their kills. The Exile reached for her sabers, flexing her grip on the hilts as she approached the sealed door. Taking a deep breath, she reached farther into the Force for strength and clarity, then opened the door.

The hissing sound broke over her like a wave, nearly deafening in volume. Nadira's eyes strained to pierce the darkness before her, more to ease her own mind than out of necessity. Failing, she then used the Force sight that Visas had taught her. Steeped in the dark side, even then the room appeared murky. But she could perceive enough to discern its dimensions and entered with caution.

The hydraulic hiss made her panic flare for a moment as the door slammed shut behind her, trapping her inside. "Of course," she groaned in exasperation, sounding more irritated than worried.

"She said you would come here, to this place," a voice emanated out of the darkness.

Nadira had whirled at the sudden sound. "Atris?" While she was strangely relieved to hear the woman's voice, she remained wary of the dark side shrouding them. "I have something urgent to discuss with you."

The lights of the chamber flared on, though they did nothing to dispel the chill in the air. "No doubt you do Exile," Atris laughed as she moved to the center of the room. "If you think you can defeat me here, you are wrong."

Nadira's face had paled significantly as she cast her gaze from Atris' yellowed eyes to the Sith holocrons surrounding her.

Atris smirked. "Not made of stone after all? I would never have believed it," she commented. Then raising her arms she gestured to the holocrons. "All this accumulated knowledge, all the teachings of combat and the Force—" Her eyes returned to the Exile. "—they are mine to command. And if I must use it to end you, I will. Surrender…you need not die."

Nadira swallowed hard. She had not expected this turn, though she kicked herself for not seeing it sooner. "Atris…" she breathed with difficulty, "you have fallen to the dark side…"

"Atris?" The Jedi historian seemed confused for a moment. "That is not who I am—not any longer. She has not existed for some time, I think. There was always something else within me—it just took time for its voice to be heard."

"You _know_ who you are," Nadira insisted. "And you're far too stubborn to let yourself or anyone else, for that matter, forget it." The grief in her eyes belied her angry tone.

"But you never knew, did you?" she retorted. "But you're right, I know better than anyone else and I will make you see the truth you could never admit!" Suddenly, the anger on Atris' face faded, calm control surfacing once more. She walked over to admire the holocrons she'd amassed. "How do you like my collection? All the knowledge of all the Sith, gathered from across the galaxy. Brought by my servants, so that I might uncover their secrets—and use them to track them down."

"Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?" Nadira exclaimed, alarmed at how Atris hovered admiringly over the dark relics.

"But it worked!" Atris burst. "Now they have been drawn from the shadows of the Outer Rim—and the only loose end to tie before ending their threat is to finish you."

"This is no time to dwell on old grudges. Do you know where the Sith are striking from?" She had to break through to Atris. She only hoped the historian had garnered some useful information before succumbing to their whispers, at once both violent and seductive.

"I do not know… yet," Atris admitted before leveling a challenging glare at Nadira. "But it does not matter. They have come here to face the Republic in battle, and they will be destroyed."

Nadira blanched. The Atris she knew would not have allowed her judgment to become so compromised, even out of misguided anger. Atris had been many things over the years—foolishly optimistic was never one of them. "What happened to you?"

She tilted her head amused at how unsettled the Exile had become. "The old woman you travel with, finally made me…" She paused musingly, "…listen to myself, to the galaxy. She said that you would come here, and that you would face me in battle." With a relishing smile, she drew the double-bladed saber from her belt.

"There is no reason for us to fight," Nadira answered, refusing to move, not even reaching for her own weapons.

Atris, though, was not in the least deterred. "She said that you were the last obstacle to my enlightenment. If I wished to truly face the Sith, to see their heart, then that meant facing you this last time."

"Where did she go?"

"I do not know. I suspect she went in search of you. But just as when she first came here, her path is difficult to see. She has set many things in motion. It is she who ordered the extermination of all Jedi, so long ago. She will answer for her crimes, in time. She is Sith…just as you are," she spat, igniting her lightsaber. The red blades cast a sinister light that washed over her face, coloring it with rage and malice. "Just as all who followed Revan were."

"Atris, we don't have time for this!" Nadira held out her hand, pleading with her to see reason. "We need to unite to stop the Sith!"

"Yes, the Sith are here at last," Atris purred, her lips curling in self-satisfaction. "You have brought them to this place, as I had foreseen. It has all been part of my plans for you. And when I have defeated you and the forces you have brought to Telos, I shall take the battle to the heart of the Sith, and wipe them out—forever."

She had begun to circle and Nadira backed away defensively, but still refused to take up arms against the only surviving member of the Council and the Order. "What plans are you talking about?"

"These Sith are cowards, striking from the shadows to kill Jedi. I needed a target to draw them out—but I could not risk my own life—all that remained of the Jedi. So I arranged for you to return to the Republic." Nadira blinked in surprise, which amused Atris. "That's right. I was the one who sent the Harbinger to retrieve you. I leaked the information of your past. Then I simply waited for the Sith to come. And they did. But you came to Telos, against my predictions." She shrugged. "It doesn't matter though. Now they are here, I can finally face this enemy and defeat them."

Nadira's back hit a pedestal, knocking its holocron to the ground. The pyramid-shaped device screamed in anger at the indignity. In this moment of distraction, Atris lunged. Nadira dove out of the way just in time to feel the charged air of the blade as it missed her face by millimeters.

She pulled her sabers out, an instinctive reaction to her close call. But they remained dormant as she called out to Atris one last time. "I will not fight you, but I can't let your actions endanger the people of Telos. Please Atris surrender. Let us work together to fight the Sith!"

The Echani Jedi's eyes flashed with fury. "Surrender? To you? Never. Let us end this." She dove for the Exile, her intentions clear.

Nadira deflected the attack, stepping out of her way. Stunning her with a Force wave, she cast Force immunity on herself. Her jaw tightened as she steeled herself to battle one of her own.

Driven by rage, Atris attacked with all the bitterness she'd nursed against her–feelings of betrayal, anger, and resentment were unleashed as she leveled stroke after stroke against Nadira. No, the Exile! Nadira had died long before Malachor, long before Dxun. The day she went to war, Atris had counted her as dead. She had been her hero. And not just hers—many in the temple had looked up to her! And when she'd sided with Revan, sister or not, many had followed to their deaths. Others had lost faith in the wisdom of the Masters and the Council. Still others had abandoned the path of the Jedi entirely. She had planted that seed of doubt in everyone! …even in Atris… That stoked the fire that burned in the historian's heart. _She made me doubt myself, doubt my resolve to remain behind. I will never forgive her for that! For making me feel guilty of the Mandalorians' slaughter, for making me wish I had joined her in her crusade!_ She could not get over how every time she encountered Nadira, she could not stand to look at herself. _How can she make me feel ashamed? I committed no crime. It is she who should feel disgraced._ And she was determined to inflict this shame on the Exile. …On the one who was everything she was not.

Nadira backed under the ferocity of her assaults, staggering in power. It took a great amount of concentration for even someone of her experience just to keep herself alive. Atris was an accomplished Master of saber combat, proficient in several forms. Even though her anger left her on the brink of control, she compensated for her missteps with quick reversals, half feints, and changing her form randomly.

The Exile barely caught her balance as a near-miss almost impaled her. The darkness over them was thickening, even to the point of affecting her Force sight. If she didn't end this battle soon, she may not be able to save either Atris or Telos. Nadira moved into a more aggressive stance, pushing herself to make attacks instead of simply deflecting Atris' blows.

The Jedi historian smiled wickedly as Nadira upped her pace. "I knew you'd show your true color's eventually."

Nadira didn't reply, giving herself over to the Force. She could feel the strength of the dark side permeating the room, making it difficult to breathe. But she would not give in to its influence. She released her fears on a breath, and let her hands move of their own accord, becoming more the spectator than combatant.

Breaths and blocks came more easily as she turned the fight, leaving Atris to take a defensive role. She staved off crippling attacks while landing a few of her own. With one final Force wave, Atris fell to the ground, winded and disarmed. She almost made a motion to rise, but stopped short at the risk of impaling herself on Nadira's blade. The blue beam was angled down at her chest, and she stared up at it in defiance.

"You should have died out there, traitor!" she spat. "My only regret that I wasn't powerful enough to bring you to justice."

Nadira shook her head. "You really think that was power you were wielding?" Electricity sparked in her hand, racing up and down her arm. Atris closed her eyes waiting for the killing blow. The Exile's hand shot out, lightning racing from her fingertips, lighting the room with their brilliant arcs till their destructive power was exhausted.

A dead quiet settled over the room once more. Atris' eyes opened, a look of shock on her face. As startling as an explosion might have been, the silence was surprisingly more so and at first, the historian didn't recognize it. She cast about in dismay at the scorched metal shards and empty pedestals. An odd mix of loss and relief shone in her eyes. But she didn't move from where she lay on the floor.

"Kill me," she spoke meeting the Exile's gaze again. "End this." Her tone was still angry, but subdued—she had regained control of her bitterness.

"I will not kill an unarmed opponent," Nadira breathed, retracting her blade.

"I did not expect mercy from you…here, at the end. After all that has happened between us."

"I never wanted this—never wanted your life." Nadira's eyes welled with sadness. "There has been enough death."

Atris seemed to accept this at last. "If you will not kill me then what will you do?" She rose to her knees.

Nadira got on her knees beside the fallen Jedi. "What happened to you?" she asked, placing a hand on Atris' shoulder.

The woman wrenched free of her grasp, but then slumped in defeat. "This knowledge of the Sith…" she jerked her head to the scorched remains of the holocrons, "…and of the Jedi is what I am. It is my attempt to hold on to the past… to try and protect the future."

A heavy sigh escaped the Exile. _I guess we've both been guilty of that_, she thought. "And that's why you gathered the Sith relics?"

Atris nodded. "Once, I was a historian, Chronicler of the Jedi. And when both wars passed me by, I was determined that I would not forsake battle again." She paused. "In some part of me… I knew I had made choices, compromises, but always for the sake of the Republic, of the galaxy." She raised her eyes a measure. "At the time, it did not seem so wrong."

"It never does," Nadira breathed, "until you realize you've lost your ties to everything else."

The woman kneeling before her met her gaze, then nodded soberly. "You're right. The Jedi were all I was fighting for. And yet I had become so far removed from them that I betrayed them."

Nadira clasped Atris' shoulders and this time, she did not pull away. "You can change this. You still have a choice." Their gazes locked. "Can you tell me where the Sith are striking from?"

Atris' eyes hardened. "Where do you think? You weren't the only survivor of Malachor. These Sith were spawned from that event, from the Mandalorian Wars…all those deaths, all those Jedi…" her voice trailed off for a moment before she could continue. "Their power is to feed on life, until nothing is left except a hollow galaxy, echoing with the screams of Jedi lost to us."

"Is that where Kreia has gone?"

"Yes. I had thought she was awaiting me at that place, but I see now that she lied. It was not meant for me…but for you." Nadira's brow furrowed and Atris nodded. "She has gone there. She is waiting for you to travel to Malachor V, to finish what you started."

Nadira shook her head. "What I started?"

"Yes, you are an echo in the Force, a hollow space where it has been wounded. It takes a takes a great act of destruction to create such emptiness but it can be done. It creates places where the Force is difficult to hear and where it is difficult to find one's way. And you carry it with you always."

The Exile suppressed the shiver racing down her spine. "But what does this have to do with Kreia? She wasn't there at Malachor."

"Now she seeks to create another echo, a wound in the Force, greater than the one before—greater than the one you caused. It will deafen all touched by the Force until no life is left. You were strong enough to withstand it once—but few have your strength in such matters, especially if they are unprepared."

"Why would Kreia do that?"

"She seeks the death of all Jedi, all Sith… and the death of the Force." She scoffed in disbelief. "It is madness. It is impossible, but she believes you are the key."

"Death of the Force?" Nadira's eyes were wide.

Atris took a deep breath. "There are places in the galaxy dead to the Force, where nothing lives. Where echoes travel forever, never reaching their destination. And these places may be created from the simplest of events, the slightest of motions. One person, at the right place, at the right time, can change the face of the galaxy—or end it. But she needs you there. If you choose not to follow, she will murder herself there at the heart of Malachor, and you will die along with her."

"What? Why would I matter?"

"You are important to her, somehow," she struggled to explain. "But I…" She hesitated. "…but I do not know for certain."

"Please Atris," Nadira implored her. "If you know, tell me."

The Jedi historian remained silent for a moment, before sighing. "She is willing to sacrifice herself at the heart of that graveyard world for you… A choice others have made in the past." She bowed her head and murmured, "A choice I wished to make. It is because I cared for you, looked up to you as a sister. And I suspect that you alone hold that place in her heart where nothing else lives." She looked up again. "And that is why only you can stop the destruction to come."

Nadira sat back as memories of Kreia's contrary nature flashed into her mind, her stern but concerned guidance over the mission, her attempt to comfort Nadira even after she had murdered the Jedi Council, how protective she had been of her. "Who is Kreia?"

"She is one of the Lords of the Sith, one of those who murdered the Jedi. You didn't sense it either did you?" Nadira shook her head. "The Force had been stripped from her… as it had been torn from you. But such is not the case now and she holds the death of the galaxy in her hands. She waits for you at Malachor." Her eyes darkened. "But you will not survive Telos. Nothing will. The greatest of her apprentices is on his way even now. And he will destroy everything." Her voice wavered. "Just as he destroyed Katarr. And all the Jedi gathered there."

The timbre of Atris' voice unnerved Nadira. "What do you mean?" Atris didn't answer. "What happened on Katarr?"

A tear trailed down Atris' cheek. "I arranged for the gathering on Katarr…"

Nadira sighed. "Atris, it's not your fault. You are not responsible for what that Sith did—"

"Yes," she cut her off. "Yes I am." She turned to look at Nadira, horror in her eyes. "You weren't the first target I chose to draw out the Sith."

It took a moment for this to sink in, before Nadira sank to the ground, face ashen. "You leaked information about them too…" she murmured, numb from the shock.

More tears trailed down Atris' face. "His forces were stronger than I expected. I had thought together we could defeat them, as we had done in the past."

Nadira took a shuddering breath, but it seemed to do her little good.

"I never meant…" Atris began, then her mouth snapped shut, deciding no apology could ever merit forgiveness, not after what she had done.

Nadira sat in silence for a moment, running her hand over her face then through her hair. At length, her head bowed. "Katarr was your Malachor," she realized in horror.

"I am past forgiveness," Atris said, resigned to condemnation. But Nadira grabbed her shoulders again, with a strength that startled them both.

"No one is past forgiveness," she insisted. Atris could see in her eyes she would accept no arguments to the contrary.

Atris was not entirely convinced, but Nadira's assertion did seem to lift a measure of the weight from her shoulders. "So what will you do with me now? Abandon me here on this dead world—or end my life, as I wished to end yours?" Her tone seemed to indicate that she felt she deserved nothing less.

Nadira took a deep breath before speaking. "I will do nothing—except to tell you that I am sorry. I did not realize that the Mandalorian Wars would hurt others that had known and cared for me."

"It does not matter. Not now—it is what I did with such pain that caused the wound." She looked up at her fellow Jedi. "But I thank you, Master Obsidian."

Nadira's eyes watered. "I need you to see what you could become as you walk this path—and turn away from it," she said as she helped Atris to her feet.

Atris nodded. "I tied my life, my decisions to the Jedi. Perhaps only in separating from them can I become myself again, learn who I am. Perhaps exile is what I deserve…even though it is many years too late, and you have already returned."

Their senses flared as the Force swirled around them. Nadira felt a prickling at the back of her mind, then a familiar presence. "Nadira, your fan club has arrived," she could almost hear Atton say.

"Leave now, while you can," Atris instructed her. Save Telos. Save the galaxy." She paused. "Save yourself."

Nadira set her jaw, nodding. "You'd better be around when I come back. No crazy ideas," she said, worried Atris could do something rash.

"I will be," she promised.

Nadira nodded. "Hold down the fort till then," she called over her shoulder, casting Force healing on the historian even as she rushed out the door.

As she approached the hanger, a commotion caught Nadira's senses. She heard Atton's voice. Cocky and defiant, though at first, she couldn't distinguish the words. But as she got closer, she was able to catch some of what he said.

"No, she's not here! …Don't you point that thing at me! Threats aren't gonna get you anywhere with me, I don't care how many of you gang up on me—" Then, a startled cry of pain sounded. Reigniting sabers, she rushed forward with all the speed she could muster. She entered the hanger. As soon as the _Ebon Hawk_ came into view, she froze, eyes widening.

"Get your hands off me, you crazy—ow! HEY!" Atton was flailing wildly, but he couldn't extricate himself from his attacker's hold.

Mira twisted his ear again for good measure. "You know if you had told us she was leaving in the first place, none of us would've gotten left behind. We all could have stowed away!"

"Is it my fault you're too dense or too lousy of a bounty hunter to keep tabs on one person?" he objected, earning another twist for his troubles.

Mira only let go when she saw Nadira at the end of the hanger watching the scene in disbelief. Atton rubbed his ear, glowering at the bounty hunter then throwing an annoyed glance at the Jedi.

"You know a little help would have been appreciated," he grunted, putting as much space between him and Mira as he could.

The entire group then turned to look at her. Nadira's expression became sheepish as she met the seven faces returning her gaze. "How did you guys get here?" she stammered when she found her voice.

"Hooked a ride with Zherron when he was called in to reinforce the defenses of Telos," Mandalore answered. "What? You didn't think you could get rid of us that easily, did you?"

"'How did you guys get here?'" Mira burst. "What kind of a welcome is that? You abandon our butts on Dantooine and that's all you have to say to us?"

"Mira," Mical admonished her, but she would not be silenced.

"No! Come on, she left you behind, too!" He bowed his head awkwardly, but she continued. "You may not care that she ditched you, but I sure do!"

"I'm sorry," Nadira broke in. "I was afraid. I was afraid for you. The Jedi Masters told me that my presence would endanger you… so I left you behind. I had to fight the Sith, but I didn't want it to cost you your lives. Didn't want it to cost me more friends…" her voice trailed off for a second. "I wasn't ready for that."

"So what, you thought the Sith would spare us if you weren't around?" she asked both irritated and confused. "They aren't exactly known for their charity."

Visas tilted her head. "I think there's more to it than that. This fear runs deep and its implications stretch farther than simply attracting the Sith."

They looked at Nadira who met their gazes with somber reserve. Almost shame, though not as much as before, Atton was glad to see. But he shook his head and commented almost casually, "Would you guys care to talk about this after we stop the Sith from obliterating us? Or shall I ask Nihilus to reschedule our genocide for a better time?"

Mical shook his head, but his words surprised everyone. "Atton is right—we can discuss matters later. Let's not waste time. Darth Nihilus was right behind us as we entered the system—"

"Excuse me," Atton cut him off. "What was that again?"

Mical threw Atton a glare, but that only encouraged the pilot's show of disbelief.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that first part."

"Atton."

"What? It's not like it's gonna kill you to repeat yourself." A broad grin stretched across Rand's face.

"What happened to saving time?" Mical countered irritably as he started herding the crew up the ramp.

"So repeat yourself quickly."

But Bao-Dur quickly cut their exchange short before it could escalate. "Don't make me separate you two." He gave each a pointed glare and they grudgingly acquiesced.

"Ah, man, I was hoping to see it come to blows," Mandalore commented. "Those two have been snipping at each other the entire trip. One of them ought to just throw down the gauntlet."

"Maybe later," Nadira commented, shaking her head. "For now, we have a planet to save. We need to get up to the Citadel Station and see how we can help. Grenn'll have his hands full and his men aren't trained for battle."

The crew began heading up the ramp. Mical waited behind and Nadira paused in front of him.

"I'm sorry for leaving you behind," she whispered, head bowed.

"You had your reasons," he answered simply. "In your position I probably would have done the same. However, I hope that on the journey here you were able to find some answers about what the Masters told you."

"I did," Nadira nodded. She chuckled. "Atton knocked some sense into me."

Mical smiled. "Sounds like something he would do. Then in that case, I'm glad he managed to stow away."

"Me too," Nadira agreed, her eyes brighter than usual. He sensed a greater hope in her, a radical change from how he had last seen her. But before he could contemplate that, Bao-Dur came down the ramp towards them.

"We're ready to go." He nodded to Nadira. "General, what are our orders?"

"I'm sorry I left you too, Bao."

He waved his hand dismissively. "You do not need to apologize. I followed you then and I follow you still. I suppose I did break from protocol by following you despite your apparent desire to go alone. But since you didn't issue a direct order I was not technically disobeying your commands." He looked at her with a teasing smile.

"Then I suppose we can skip the court martial this time," Nadira laughed, slinging an arm over his shoulder and the other over Mical's as they walked up the ramp together.


	18. The Approaching Storm

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 18: The Approaching Storm**

Atton watched the crew pass by into their different areas of the ship to gear up for the impending battle. He didn't move from his position in the shadows. Only a precaution—with so many people aboard again, he didn't want to take the chance of being seen if his stealthing belt decided to flicker. As Nadira passed him, he followed silently. He wanted to see how she was doing. Now that the others were present, he doubted she would speak openly about her pain. She paused for a moment, laying a hand on the wall for support, her breath coming in quick, short gasps. A pang of fear pierced him to the core. But then, she straightened and continued to her quarters as though nothing had happened. After a second, he realized he had assumed a posture similar to how hers had been a moment ago. While he had felt no pain or shortness of breath, fear had spilled over their connection to combine with his own. Her fear was translating to him despite her efforts to conceal the war she waged. He stepped forward, disengaging the cloak, but stopped as the Exile stilled.

Nadira had entered her room and now stood staring down at her bed. There was a small canister tucked into an inconspicuous corner. She reached out and took it from where it sat, examining it carefully. She'd seen it before… Atton had pulled it from the cabinet in med bay. He'd used the salve inside to treat her wound. As she looked at the label for the canister's prior contents, she saw a message scratched onto it: "So you can avoid unpleasant explanations. Use as much as you need."

Nadira sank onto the bed, clutching the jar to her chest. She stared at the floor as she tried to keep her tears from spilling over. Without a word, Atton reengaged the stealthing device and returned to the cockpit, a smile of contentment on his face.

The crew gathered in the cockpit as the blinding white gave way to the starscape. The view that now greeted them was at once awe-inspiring and menacing. The beauty of the Telosian system was marred by what appeared in the distance like a swarm of piranha beetles, blotting out stars behind them in a seething mass. The Sith fleet crept in, a shroud of silent death surrounding them as they closed in on the planet. And at their head, a massive, gutted warship. Hardly meriting the title of remains, the ship should not have been space worthy. But this only added to their rising sense of horror as the ghost ship lead its army of death straight for them.

Nadira suppressed the shiver that threatened as she straightened. "Visas?"

The Miraluka turned her head.

"Nihilus is on that ship isn't he?" She did not have to specify which one.

"Yes, my master is there. He knows you are here. And he is coming for you." Her voice held subtle hints of concern. "I believe however that you are ready to meet him now. You must be cautious though—he is more powerful than Kreia."

Somehow, Nadira doubted that was still the case, but she took the counsel to heart. She would not jeopardize the fate of the galaxy by underestimating her opponent.

"Well, I'll try to provide a decent challenge," she answered with a sigh. "This planet's already suffered enough and I will not see it destroyed a second time."

Atton guided the ship into the hanger of the Telos Citadel Station.

"Let's go people," Nadira said, already making her way to the landing ramp.

As their group entered the main area, Nadira caught sight of Lt. Grenn. The man's eyes widened. "Well, what do we have here?" he commented with mild exasperation to temper his surprise. "I didn't believe it when Linu reported the _Ebon Hawk_ had docked, but I guess it really has." Then his eyes narrowed in wry amusement. "Though given the trouble we've been having maybe I shouldn't be surprised to see you here, even after you broke house arrest."

"We're here to help, Lieutenant," she cut him short. "And something tells me you can't afford to turn us down at the moment."

An explosion sounded somewhere nearby. A group of soldiers herded in through the door, choking on smoke as they fled. One detached from the group and approached the lieutenant.

"Lt. Grenn," he said in a gravelly voice, "Sith forces have breached the module and are attempting to pin us up in the compound."

"Zherron," Nadira recognized the man.

He nodded to her. "Glad to see you're here, Jedi."

But Grenn was cursing at the man's report. "Zherron, I need you and your men to break through and lead the assault."

The security captain nodded, a grim smile on his face. "With pleasure, Lieutenant." He turned to his men. "Alright, follow me." They raised their blaster rifles in acknowledgement and trailed out after him.

"It came out of nowhere," Grenn continued as he turned back to the Exile. "A fleet of warships dropped out of hyperspace, and before we could scramble fighters to intercept them, we were under attack." He growled in frustration running a hand through his hair. "Sith fighters were everywhere, and the few flights we sent out were barely launched when the bombardment began. We did our best, but we couldn't stop the landing craft that followed the initial wave. And we couldn't hold back the Sith troops. We chose to retreat and began the evacuation instead. And with the fuel we have left—"

"Wait," Nadira asked, concern and suspicion forming in the back of her mind, "there was supposed to be more sent to you. I arranged for another source."

Grenn shook his head. "No new shipments have come in."

Nadira gritted her teeth, hissing angrily for a second. "If we survive this, I am so giving Vogga a talking-to," she promised under her breath.

"We'll try to make the best out of what's left. But without enough fuel, we won't be able to keep the station in orbit and operational, let alone fight off the Sith at the same time," Grenn analyzed.

"Just worry about the station, Lieutenant," she advised him. "We'll handle the Sith."

This suggestion didn't sit well with him. "The Sith numbers seem limitless—"

"Divided focus will give them a greater advantage," she reasoned calmly. "But once we've dealt with the landing party, the only thing you need to focus on is keeping this station where it is. We'll take care of the Sith."

"What makes you think you can stop an entire fleet?"

"Inside knowledge," she replied, answer ready and confident. "We cut them straight to the heart."

Grenn looked at Nadira as if she'd gone crazy. But her stance was erect, her breathing even—she was not being overpowered by delusions of grandeur or a desire for violence. Her face was impassive, her eyes clear of everything but a commanding strength. Somehow, he wasn't sure how, but he knew if anyone had a chance of pulling off this insane scheme, it was her.

"Alright. You call the play. We're outnumbered by far, but we haven't lost all hope. We've heard reports that we might be receiving some assistance."

"Reinforcements?"

He nodded. "A squad of troops sent by Queen Talia are currently trying to keep the Sith from sabotaging the station's fuel system. And we have word that more Republic forces are en route." He sighed. "I don't know if they'll reach us in time to do any good."

"We'll see to it," Nadira assured him.

"Then you are in command, General Obsidian," Grenn said.

"Does this mean you won't be putting us into force cages again?" Atton asked.

Nadira suppressed a grin while Grenn ignored the taunt entirely.

"I assume you plan to hit the flagship in some way?" Nadira nodded. "Well to get there, you're going to have to fight your way from here to the Entertainment module, then make your way to the docking shuttle." He paused. "Good luck."

Nadira clasped his shoulder reassuringly, then slid a credit chip into his hand. His brow furrowed and he looked from it back up to her face. She was smiling.

"Rounds for everyone on me when this is over," she answered the unspoken question. Then she turned and led her crew from the room.

"Hey how come you've never bought rounds for us, huh?" Atton asked as he drew his sabers casually.

"Has there ever been the need?" she asked knowingly. "You've pretty much laid claim to the entire stash aboard the _Ebon Hawk_."

"Well, that," Atton scoffed, brushing it off as best he could, "that ran out about three weeks ago."

"Hmmm," she arched an eyebrow. "Imagine that."


	19. Renewing Old Acquaintances

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 19: Renewing Old Acquaintances**

Making their way to the Entertainment module proved to be quite a feat. Nadira didn't know how Nihilus had managed it, but he had somehow fit over fifty soldiers into the landing craft that had penetrated the station's defenses. Or at least fifty so far.

Blasterfire sounded up ahead. Nadira groaned. Maybe closer to a hundred.

And these were not cannon-fodder grade soldiers. They were some of his best warriors and Force users. This was not good. If they were worn down before they even reached Nihilus' ship, a battle with the Dark Lord may not even be feasible, to say nothing of their chances for victory. Nadira began shifting her focus to reinforcing her crew as they fought alongside her, reenergizing them through the Force. She couldn't make it without them.

They were spread out over the commons, each tackling their own group of Sith infiltrators. Atton had just finished clearing out a handful when he caught sight of another. "Come on in, fellas, and join the party," he murmured as he cut into their numbers. Within moments, he had taken down the majority of that wave. But as he turned to face the last one, he froze in shock. "Jharen?"

The Sith raised his blade in recognition, a sneer curling his lips. "Jaq," he hissed, "it has been some time since I've seen you." He made pointed note of the blue blades in his hands. "Switched sides again? Would have expected it from a coward like you, loyal only when it serves your purpose."

"I hardly think you stayed with the Sith out of allegiance," Atton retorted.

"Not that I regret your absence—don't get me wrong," Jharen assured him with a smile. "Not only did I get your position in Revan's ranks, I also received the promotion that apparently you were in line for."

Atton rolled his eyes. "Considering the lifespan of Revan's upper echelon, I don't think I missed out on too much," he quipped, raising his blades. But he paused when Jharen laughed.

"Is that all you thought it was? You were considered to be inducted into Lord Revan's inner circle, comprised of a group of Sith admirals and Dark Jedi Masters, not much further in rank from Malak himself. To be on the inside of Revan's most secret plans, to have her listen when you speak." He paused reveling in the glory of his position. "Would you have willingly walked away from that?"

Atton's eyes were fixed intently on him and the Sith smiled in triumph for a moment.

"Well, you couldn't have known that much," Atton shrugged. "Revan liked her secrets, kept all her best ones pretty close to the vest. I doubt even Malak knew half of them. You'd need Iridium Level clearance—"

"Yes you would. The Star Forge, the plans to assassinate key leaders of the Republic, the counter-serums to our most advanced poisons, the secret facility—"

"Come on," Atton scoffed, still playing the role. He only prayed his old associate bought it as he fought to suppress the desperation that tugged at his heart. "You're telling me a moron like you was given access to sensitive information like Destiny's cure?" He shook his head. "You don't know any more than rumors about it. I'll bet you haven't even seen it!"

Snarling at this slight, Jharen instantly produced a vial from his robes. He held it aloft for Atton to see while he assumed an air of superiority.

Seeing the vial, Atton visibly stiffened, his mocking façade dropping for a moment. He stared at it in astonishment. He hadn't actually expected him to have it. At best, he hoped maybe he could trick Jharen into telling him the formula. But to have it…

Jharen's eyes narrowed at Atton's reaction before a vicious light danced in his eyes. "You want this, don't you…" he surmised, relishing the power he held over the pilot. "For yourself? It must be—surely you wouldn't care if it was someone else…"

An explosion to the side drew their attention. A Jedi fighting her way to the far hall had been thrown against a viewport. Its crack was loud enough to send shivers of panic through everyone the sound reached. Atton visibly flinched before he realized the viewport was still intact, though barely.

As he turned back to Jharen, the Sith met his eyes with a wicked gaze. "Has she begun to cough up blood yet? Seizures? Does she cringe from invisible horrors she alone can see? Certainly her pain and disorientation must be indescribable." His lips curled into a malevolent smile. "Don't worry, when she succumbs to the fever and delirium, her screams will be etched into your memory so that even death won't free you."

He barely got up his crimson blade in time to keep Atton's blue ones from impaling him. The fury of Atton's blows was blinding, as was the rage that burned behind his eyes. In an instant, Jharen's smug smile vanished as he fought simply to keep pace with the deadly assault. Under the staggering power of Atton's advance, he began, too late, to question his strategy of taunting him. It didn't take long for Rand to gain the advantage, and he pressed it for all he was worth.

"Maybe you didn't switch sides after all," Jharen gasped after rolling away from a swing that reduced a decorative statue to charred fragments.

Rand froze. The comment had been a muttered observation, but he'd caught the words and they hit him like a battering ram. Dark understanding showed in his countenance. Jharen's momentary surprise at the reprieve vanished as he lunged to take advantage of the distraction. But his blow was swept aside effortlessly. Atton's distant eyes focused again, snapping up to lock Jharen in their gaze. The rage was gone—the determination was not. In fact, it seemed stronger, impenetrable. His strokes flew with lethal grace, smoother and faster than before, much to the Sith's dismay. Almost before he realized it, his sabers had clattered to the floor far out of reach. In a final desperate attempt, Jharen raised the vial to smash it. He cringed in fear as Atton's saber flew down at him. A moment later, he opened his eyes to meet Atton's. They locked him with an inescapable glare. He looked down—the man's saber had imbedded into the wall millimeters from his chest. His heart stopped. Despite the hatred he bore his predecessor, Jharen was never blind to his undeniable skills—Atton _never_ missed his target. As his gaze rose again, they faceted on the Jedi crouching in front of him.

"Not a smart move," Rand breathed, warning in his tone. He pulled the saber from the wall with pointed deliberation before hooking the weapon onto his belt. Jharen swallowed, watching the man's every move until Atton froze, hand out-stretched expectantly before the Sith. With no small amount of fear, he placed the vial in his up-turned palm. No sooner had he done this than Atton's fingers closed over it, carefully slipping it into a hidden pocket inside his jacket. He barely concealed the way his fingers trailed the outside to see that it was securely in place. Then his gaze turned back onto him, passionless and calculating.

Jharen swallowed hard again, feebly trying to affect an air of dignity. It wasn't working. "What will you do with me?"

Atton's eyes narrowed. "What would you do if you were me?" He left the question hanging in the smoke-choked air. He almost savored the way Jharen cowered before him before gritting his teeth. "Get out of here. And if you ever serve the Sith again, you'd better pray I don't catch up to you."

Jharen blinked dumbly in disbelief. "W—what?" he actually stammered. But his paralysis broke as Atton stepped forward challengingly.

"Wanna give me time to change my mind?"

Jharen bolted to his feet and had disappeared within moments.

Atton sighed with an odd mixture of satisfaction and irritation. "Note to self," he muttered, "must get Nadira to teach me her 'come to the light side' bit." Shaking his head, he cast about for her. But he soon frowned as he realized he was the only one left in the room. The Exile and their friends were nowhere to be seen. He had been too consumed with obtaining the cure to notice how quiet and empty the commons had become. Considering the station's layout, he tried to calculate the fastest route to the shuttle bay. He had to get the cure to Nadira. He only prayed it wasn't too late.


	20. Hard Decisions

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 20: Hard Decisions**

Nadira paced anxiously, wiping sweat and soot from her face as the group filed past her hurriedly, choking on the smoke as they came. During the fight, an explosion had weakened the internal structure of the passageways, so that the next caused the corridor to collapse altogether, cutting them off from the way they came. Damaged from the collapse, one of the generators poured black clouds of acrid smoke into the hall, blinding them and nearly robbing a few of consciousness. Directing the soldiers and the members of her crew, Nadira'd led them out into the adjoining plaza. She watched the group file past her, checking each face to make sure they'd all gotten through. But when the last person emerged from the haze, Nadira's blood froze. She turned to face the shrouded corridor. Not everyone had made it. Six people were still unaccounted for, including… Her breath quickened and she narrowed her watering eyes to pierce the fog. Even now, she could still hear the groan of the metal walls, listened to the panels ticking in the heat of the fires, punctuated by the yelp of the durasteel hull as it was rent under the weight it could no longer support. But the gloom was entirely void of life as the station increasingly threatened death. "Where are you?" she breathed.

A hand clasped her shoulder. "What is it?" Visas asked, quietly.

Instead of answering, she began to take a step forward into the corridor. Marr's grip tightened, preventing her. "You cannot go. The rest of the level could collapse, or the hull could rupture. It is not safe," she reasoned calmly.

"He's in there," Nadira protested, trying to pull free of her grip. "He didn't come out."

"If the hull has been breached, we need to seal off the corridor."

"I can't do that—he could be in there."

"If we do not, we risk everyone aboard."

Nadira whirled. "What would you do if it were Mical?"

Visas' face burned, an uncharacteristic reaction for her. But otherwise her face remained neutral. "I do not know what you mean."

But Nadira was shaking her head. "I've seen how you act around him." _Like how I act around Atton_. "I tried to talk you into treatments for your pain before, but you refused. When Mical asked you though, it was a different story."

Visas said nothing.

"Are you going to tell me that if it was Mical, you would leave him behind?"

"Sometimes sacrifices must be made," she answered, tone and face grave.

Nadira shook her head, biting back the retort that she was tired of being asked to make sacrifices. That there were some she couldn't bring herself to make. And deep down, she feared what that might mean.

"Can you sense him?"

Nadira froze. Hesitating a moment out of fear, she reached out through the Force. "Yes."

"He is safe?"

A moment of silence hung before Nadira exhaled heavily in relief. "Yes," she answered, hanging her head and waiting for the adrenaline to dissipate.

"Then we must keep going. We cannot help him if the Sith destroy this station." She paused. "What would he have you do?"

"He'd want me to keep going." Nadira nodded. Closing her eyes, she activated a sensor that sealed off the damaged portion of the entertainment module. Her eyes didn't open until the bulkhead had sealed before her. Now, the risk of a hull breach wouldn't compromise the rest of the station. Leaning a moment against the door, she took a breath. Throwing up a prayer for him, she straightened and turned to the rest of the group.

Bao and Mical were tending to the injured soldiers while Zherron, Mira and Mandalore were conferring with one another on a plan to take out the _Ravager_. Nadira and Visas walked over to join the latter group.

"…My men have brought our more powerful explosives," Mandalore was saying as he hovered over a holochart of the flagship's layout. "Once we set the charges and detonators in these key sections, the Sith won't find enough of its scrap to make a nanochip."

Zherron eyed him with a measure of mistrust, clearly uncomfortable with the thought of working with a Mandalorian, let alone their leader. But he considered it carefully. "It's a sound plan, but the Darth Nihilus must surely have countermeasures to prevent an invasion force from taking the ship."

"We'll send a small unit," Nadira said as she studied the projected cross-section. "If we enter here, we should be able to avoid detection long enough to thin their numbers."

"Oh yeah?" Mandalore commented with wry chuckle. "And how long do you think it's going to take him to sense you're on board. Visas said it on the _Hawk_: he already knows you're here. He'll be expecting this."

Nadira nodded. "I didn't say avoid _his_ detection. He wants us there. That was his plan. He feeds on life, but he specifically targets Force users. It was his plan all along to get us on the _Ravager_, whether under our own power or by force."

Mandalore considered it. "I don't think I've ever been more glad to _not_ be one of you."

Nadira's smile was humorless. "Don't worry, Mandalore. I'm sure you'll make an excellent appetizer." This earned a snort from the armored man. "But he has to think we're not onto his plan. He won't be expecting the charges. And if he does by some chance, I should be able to keep him occupied long enough."

Mandalore's helmeted head swiveled to face her directly. "You can't possibly intend to face him alone."

"We don't need to expose anymore Force Sensitives than we have to," she answered. "If this plan fails, only the Jedi left behind will be able to stop him."

"But there are no Jedi left," Mira pointed out.

"Except for the crew of the _Ebon Hawk_," Mandalore murmured, straightening.

"Precisely," Nadira said. "This attack must be small to make it through the _Ravager_. Then by necessity, I must risk as few Jedi as possible, in case he manages to survive."

"That's the same strategy the Council took fighting us," Mandalore scoffed, an air of disappointment in his tone.

"With one difference," Nadira replied. "You didn't grow stronger from the life force of the Jedi you killed. The more of us he consumes, the stronger he will be. And if I fail, he will be stronger than before."

"That's assuming you will fail," Mira argued.

The Exile was silent a moment. She couldn't tell them how compromised her strength was, or how little she felt she could defeat a Sith Lord in her condition. She needed them to believe they would win.

"Then we should only expose the Force Sensitives my Master knows of," Visas proposed, stepping forward. She sensed Nadira's distress and knew how much she needed support right now.

Nadira looked at the Miraluka in surprise. Thinking about it, she nodded, seeing the wisdom in Visas' plan. "Are you sure you are ready to face him?"

"I am," she said at length. "It is time I confronted my past."

"Then Visas and I will go." Nadira turned to Mandalore. "I'll need you to show me the detonator so I know how to activate it while we're aboard."

Mandalore simply crossed his arms. "If you think I'm sitting this one out, you're out of your mind. We both know that ship. We both know where it comes from. Besides, who's going to set the charges while you two are distracting Nihilus?"

Nadira smiled. "Well, then Mandalore, looks like the three of us are going to take a stroll down memory lane. In the meantime, I want the rest of you to stay here and prevent Sith landing parties from gaining a foothold here. Keep them away from the fuel cells at all costs."

Mira grumped irritably. "You're gonna need us on that ship."

"No," Nadira replied, gently laying a hand on her arm. "I need you here to search for survivors. You have the sharpest eye of all of us—you can find people when no one else can. I need you to use that skill for me now, to find survivors when others miss them." Mira still looked uncertain, but Nadira squeezed her shoulder with urgency. "Please, it's important. In the end, it may prove more important than anything else we do."

Mira sighed, but nodded dutifully. "Alright, I'll search for survivors. But I'd better not have to come searching for you." She fixed her mentor with a pointed gaze.

"You won't," she promised. "Thank you."

With that she turned to the others and began preparations to launch.

Shortly, the trio had taken one of the few remaining shuttles to head for the enemy ship. Nadira's companions watched in somber silence, hoping that the tiny craft was intact after all the damage the station had taken. Their eyes traced its path till it vanished amid the stars and weaving star fighters obstructing their view.

After a minute, Mira's sigh broke the silence. "So, now what?"

"We follow the general's orders until they return," came Bao-Dur's simple response.

Mical nodded his agreement and after a grudging pause so did Mira. Another silence, heavier then the first settled for a long while as they patrolled the area with calm precision. Mira was able to find a few of the soldiers obscured by debris. After Mical had stabilized them, Zherron's men ferried them to the Medical Bay. Within an hour, the sound of running steps approaching made them all spin, weapons raised.

The man raised his hands. "Relax guys, it's just me."

"There you are," Bao breathed, a half smile gracing his face.

"What gives? You all left me behind!" Atton complained.

Mical shook his head in exasperation at their pilot. "Why didn't you follow us? Do you know how much you worried Nadira?"

"I was a little busy," he shrugged, instinctively touching his jacket. "Met up with an old acquaintance that needed to be set straight on some things." Then he looked around, concern surfacing on his face. "Where's Nadira?"

"Left without us," Mira huffed crossing her arms. "Again."

"What?" Atton asked, panic rising a notch.

"She went to deal with Nihilus," Mical explained. "She, Mandalore, and Visas took a shuttle to infiltrate the _Ravager_."

Atton noticed after a second that the Disciple's misgivings mirrored his own. But Atton discarded that for his own worries as the sense of foreboding in his stomach hardened into a knot. "I have to go after her." He started for the airlock behind them when Bao-Dur caught his arm.

"I know you're worried for her, but she won't be able to defeat Nihilus if he uses you against her," the Iridonian advised, voice low so only Atton could hear.

"I know the risks," Atton told him in a serious tone. "But if I don't get to her soon, she's not gonna survive."

Bao-Dur's face darkened, eyes searching Atton's in silent question.

Atton shook his head. "I can't tell you why, but I need to get to her and I need to do it now, or she is going to die."

Bao was floored by the fear he saw behind the man's eyes. That it showed was evidence enough of how critical the situation was. Questions swam in his mind, but he voiced none of them, simply releasing Atton's arm and nodding solemnly. "Then go quickly. She's already has a good head start on you."

Atton gripped the Zabrak's arm in thanks before tearing to the nearest shuttle and powering it up to go. Mira looked after him incredulously before turning in frustration to Bao-Dur.

"What? He gets to go? Why does _he_ get to go?!"

"His mind is set. If you want to stop him, be my guest. I'd love to see you try."

Mira fumed as Bao-Dur watched her with raised eyebrows till the redheaded huntress stalked off to sulk in defeat.

Within moments, the shuttle hovered off the docking bay floor and zipped through the protective force field into space.


	21. Echoes of Malachor

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 21: Echoes of Malachor**

"Are the charges in place?" Nadira whispered into her commlink.

"Almost," came Mandalore's crackled response. "Putting the last one into position now. Once you give the word, I'll activate the countdown."

"Good. We're on the bridge. If we don't make contact in the next ten minutes, activate the mines and get off the ship."

"Understood. If you die, die with honor—you will be remembered, Exile. Mandalore out."

Nadira sighed. She would have preferred a more positive pep talk. Pocketing her commlink, she looked up as Visas returned from her old quarters.

"Are you good to go?" she asked.

Visas nodded in her typical solemnity. "I have done what I needed to do."

Nadira nodded. This would not be easy for the Miraluka woman and she clasped her shoulder in understanding. "It's not easy to say good-bye."

"Actually, it was oddly cleansing, like a release."

The Jedi smiled at her friend. "Then I am glad for it." Her eyes flitted over to the bridge door. "Shall we pay him a visit then?"

Visas nodded in response, drawing her double-bladed saber and falling in line behind the Exile.

The doors opened readily for them, and they walked casually across the expanse of the bridge. From the second the doors parted a flood of memories swept over Nadira, flashing through her mind in rapid sequence as she followed the familiar trail to the viewport. She resisted the urge to brush consoles with her fingers as she passed, fighting to hold her focus on the Sith Lord ahead of them.

Darth Nihilus stood at the observation platform watching the view before him, seemingly unaware of their intrusion. His bulk seemed to extend beyond the confines of his frame to fill the space of the bridge with a consuming malevolence. It brushed at the framework that was warped by scoring and ruptures from past battles, exposing the interior to the vacuum of space. Or at least it should have. Nadira couldn't tell what was keeping the ship together, though she wagered a guess that it was only the will of the Sith Lord commanding it. A hissing sound filled the air around them, indecipherable, then slowly forming words within her mind.

"…Welcome back, General Obsidian…" The ghostly voice seemed to flow through her like a whisper of energy just before it was consumed by the void. She felt more than heard it. And at its brush came violent flashes of her past, battering her in sharp contrast to the soft touch of the voice. "…it has been many years since I was honored with your presence…"

"Captain Sorell, I wish I could say I was glad to see you again," she answered.

She felt his chuckle ripple through her. "…So you do remember me…"

"That day is imprinted somewhat indelibly in my mind."

"…and it would be too…" he mused. "… I hope you like what I've done with our ship…though it isn't quite the way you remember…"

"It could use a new coat of paint, I believe."

"…Perhaps…But then again it will always carry the taint of Malachor no matter who attempts to salvage it…It is odd, standing where you once stood as you ordered the planet's destruction… as you ordered our deaths…" His presence swelled to fill the air around him, as if he flexed his Force powers. He drew in a deep, satisfied breath. "…What must it have felt like? …the power you held over all those lives…the rush you must have felt as you snuffed them out…I can only imagine the power you must have experienced…"

Nadira recoiled, flinching as the memory attacked her. She could not resist its pull as it forced itself on her at Nihilus' command. She watched helplessly as she once more ordered Bao-Dur to activate the mass shadow generators, sundering the planet, killing her own men along with the enemy they faced. Even the memory was enough to bring her to her knees as her past self fell unconscious to the ground from so many ties cut at once.

"…such power…" he sighed in exhilaration.

"Nadira!" Visas called moving to aid her.

Nihilus flinched as if noticing Marr for the first time. He turned. His anger was evident as the air charged around them. "…I see you have found my lost pet…such insolence…" He caught Visas in stasis as he closed the distance between them, his presence with a crushing weight stealing their breath away.

"This ends here," Nadira gasped out, trying to rise to her feet. "I will not let you destroy Telos." But her challenge sounded weak at best.

"…Amusing to think you can stop me…Unlike the last time we met, I am in command now…what little authority you may carry will not stay my hand…"

"He doesn't understand," Visas forced out as she struggled for breath. "He thinks he cannot die…" Her voice cut off abruptly as he whirled on her.

Nadira gathered all the strength she could, wresting herself from his grip, from the past. Calling her blades to her hands, she rushed at him.

Nihilus barely moved, but still caught her blades just in time. "…You cannot fight your past…you cannot undo what you created in us…in those who survived…"

"But we can defeat you," she replied.

"…Your doubt says otherwise…"

Visas joined her in the fight and soon they were weaving, dodging, swinging, jumping. Exchanging blows in a heated cadence, a spectator would have had difficulty discerning the combatants in the tangle of light. Both Nadira and Visas were masterful fighters. But Nihilus was holding his own against both with what seemed a minimal effort.

Nadira's movements began to lapse as exhaustion set in. Nihilus threw Force lightning at her which she barely blocked in time.

"Nadira—" Visas called in concern, but Nihilus motioned to her, slipping past her defenses with the gesture and bearing down on her mind. She gasped in fear and pain. "He's…too strong…" Her voice trailed off as she fell to her knees.

"…You are _my_ slave…" he hissed darkly. "…Mine…now and forever…" He stroked her face.

Visas cringed at his touch but did not move from where she knelt.

He could tell she was resisting and pushed harder. "…Yes…"

"Yes…my Master…" she gasped, voice utterly devoid of hope.

"No!" Nadira cried as she slashed down at him, cutting deeply into his arm. The Dark Lord shrieked and rounded on the Exile who faced him with determined strength. "I will not let you enslave her again!"

Enraged, Nihilus threw Visas against the far wall, knocking her unconscious, then spun barely in time to block Nadira's attack.

"…I do not surrender my possessions to anyone…" he seethed furiously.

They dueled across the bridge of the _Ravager_, neither one seeming to gain an advantage over the other. Finally depleted of strength, Nadira overextended her attack. He caught her under the ribs, then spun kicking out as he did, catching her in the jaw with his booted heel. Both blows dazed her for a moment. But that was all he needed. She gasped as he wrenched her into the air, then catapulted her back against the jutting communications console. The corner caught her in the center of her back, impacting her wound as she collided with it. Her scream rent the air, taking all her strength with it as it left her body. Then she hung limp in his Force grip. She tried to focus her eyes on Nihilus as he approached at a leisurely pace.

"…I should thank you for granting me this strength…if not for your actions at Malachor, none of this would have been possible…" he gloated. "…I want you to know how grateful I am…"

As his dark figure seemed to engulf her conscious mind, her heart sank. He was right—after all the deaths she'd caused, she deserved to die. And this death would be more merciful by far than those she had dealt to so many others. But Telos did not deserve this end. Nor did Visas or any of her companions. But she could do nothing now but watch helplessly, dangling from the Sith's grasp as the end came and darkness fell.

Atton raced through the corridors of the warship, following both the trail of bodies and his Force sense to find Nadira. He could feel her distress surging through the Force. His heart hammered as he moved through the ship, chafing at each second lost, at every wrong turn. Finally stopping at a junction, he carefully examined two paths, unwilling to take a wrong turn and lose more time. One led into a room, a meditation chamber of sorts it seemed. As he was turning to study the other, white hot agony brought him to his knees. Dazed and gasping, he cast about for his attacker. But no one was there. A cursory examination of his body told him he was not injured either. His eyes widened, blood draining from his face as he realized the pain's source. _Nadira…_ Tearing down the second path, he found himself on the bridge. At the end of the room, he could make out two figures against the battle scene obscuring the starscape. One figure loomed against the darkness advancing on the second, slight and weak. _Nadira!_ She hung suspended against a comms console, features pale as she gasped frantically for breath, but otherwise, she did not struggle. Darth Nihilus approached her, his form shifting as he did.

"…I want you to know how grateful I am…" the hissing voice seemed to say. "…And once I consume your life energies, no force will be left in this galaxy to oppose me…"

Dark tendrils reached out like tentacles from the Sith Lord, coiling around her arms and legs. As they wrapped her in their grip, her entire body began to glow. Nadira went rigid, shuddering as one central tendril reached out to pierce her chest. Her light began to strobe as if connected to her heartbeat. The span between each strobe lengthened, her pulse dying away slowly. Her head lolled forward against her chest as her life started draining from her body.

"…Yes…" Nihilus purred in triumph.

Suddenly, he was flung to the other side of the platform, crashing through a navigation display as he went. As he rose to his feet, he saw a man standing between him and his quarry, barely concealed fury in his eyes.

"…Another of her pawns…" he growled irritably. "…fighting in vain to stop the inevitable…"

"Big words coming from a Sith that just got schooled by a rookie," Atton sneered.

"…You cannot stop me…" Nihilus retorted as though amused. "…You cannot save her…"

"I'm afraid you'll have to prove that to convince me."

"…If you insist…" He was on him in an instant, assaulting him with every attack conceivable.

Atton did an impressive job holding his own against the Sith, meeting him blow for blow.

Nihilus became frustrated, afraid that this neophyte Jedi might have the strength to defeat him. "…She has trained you well…I suppose you may think you can save her…"

"That's the plan," he answered. "You're sharp for a Sith who can't even speak."

"…She remembers this place well…It pleases me that she will die here…the same place she should have died ten years ago…"

Atton's swings became more aggressive despite himself. He knew Nihilus was baiting him. But his fear for her weakness coupled with his knowledge that he alone could save her only drove his urgent need to reach her.

The Sith didn't ease up. "…Her pain even now is considerable…It might be a kindness for you to let me finish what I'd started…put her out of her misery…Don't you want her suffering to end…?"

"It will end as soon as I deal with you!" Atton lunged at Nihilus who barely stepped out of his path in time, throwing a Force push at him as he went. Atton flew forward, reaching out to arrest his momentum. When he finally stopped he rolled onto his back, only to roll away before the Sith's red blade could impale him. Then again. And again. Getting enough distance, he started crawling away from Nihilus. But the Dark Lord was too quick catching him by the throat and lifting him off the ground.

"…Die in the knowledge that you have failed her, and once I have consumed your life force I will use it to consume hers…" His dark Force tendrils constricted his form as he began to siphon Atton's life. The pilot raged against it but couldn't keep up the fight for long as his strength began to ebb. But then Nihilus froze. As he stiffened, Atton looked down to see a violet blade protruding from the Sith's chest. Atton fell to the ground as his attacker's grip slackened, and after a moment, Nihilus joined him there. Atton gasped grateful lungfuls of air as his eyes rose. Visas Marr hovered over them, lightsaber swaying as she panted with exertion, her face twisted with guilt and relief.

"Thanks," Atton breathed before rolling onto his knees and rushing to Nadira's side.

As he raced away, Visas fell to her knees beside the corpse of her fallen Master, dazed in horror at her actions for a few moments before the spell started to slip away. Hesitantly, she reached out for the mask that hid his face. Pausing in fear, she clenched her fists.

"I have to see…with the Force _and_ my eyes," she whispered, her own voice steeling her resolve.

As she struggled to find closure, Atton skidded to his knees next to Nadira. As his eyes fell on her, his blood ran cold. Her skin was clammy and quickly moving from pale to translucent, its color mottling in wake of the change. She took her breaths in short, ragged gasps, her entire body trembling violently where she lay. Her heavy-lidded eyes hadn't moved, seeming not to register his presence.

Cursing, Atton drew the vial from his pocket and fed it into an injection gun he'd swiped after a wrong turn into the ship's lab. Quickly, he pulled her into his arms. But at his touch, she started flailing. Though weak, she had more strength than she should have in her condition. Atton's heart panged—one of the last symptoms before the toxin claimed its victim was fevered fits. But she shouldn't be this close… Then he noticed his arm supporting her back felt wet. Pulling it free for a second, he spared it a glance. His breath hitched in his chest—the sleeve of his shirt was soaked through with her blood. A corresponding blood trail between her and the console she'd been battered against confirmed his fears: the infected area had been ruptured and was seeping into her blood stream. It wouldn't be long before the toxin reached her heart.

"Nadira," he called to her as she writhed, trying to hang onto her without hurting her. She didn't respond. Her eyes were wide open now, bright with fever, round with fear.

"Let go of me," she slurred her words heavily. That she could get them out at all was a marvel. But it was clear she didn't recognize him. He tried to administer the cure, but she was thrashing too much to reach her wound. One wild swing of her arm would have sent the injection gun flying but for his firm grasp. He had to get through to her now or risk breaking the vial.

He clasped her head from behind with a hand, touching his forehead to hers, and forcing his breathing to level out. "Nadira." His voice was calmer now and she stilled at the familiar sound.

She squinted, trying to get her eyes to focus, but still took a few moments to respond. "…A-Atton?"

His smile was sad. "Hey," he barely got out around the lump in his throat, "everything's gonna be alright."

She studied him as though still unsure it was truly him or not. Then she yelped weakly as he injected the serum into the wound.

He winced. "…I'm sorry…I know it hurts, but this is gonna save you…"

But she shook her head and stared at him again. "…tho-thought I …l-lost you…" Her hand reached up, tugging at him with feeble motions. He leaned forward as she pulled him. Then to his surprise, she levered herself up, closing the distance between them and pressing her lips to his. He adjusted his hold to support her, almost losing himself for a moment in their kiss. Her lips were soft as they brushed his tenderly, and he responded in kind. But then his heart broke as she shivered and fell limp, too weak to hold her head up anymore. He cradled her closer to him to stave off the chill from the hull. Her eyes were almost too heavy to hold open. "…Nihilus…couldn't stop him…" she murmured.

"He's dead now," Atton assured her, pulling her hair from her eyes. "Don't talk. Save your strength."

"…none left…"

"You promised me, remember?" he said, almost snapping in his fear.

She paused a second before nodding weakly. But he could see her light fading fast.

"…What are you doing up there?!" a voice crackled over the commlink. Mandalore's voice jolted both Visas and Atton back to their surroundings. "You time's almost up! We need to get off this ship! Now!"

Visas shot to her feet and began tugging at Atton, but he shook her off.

"She's not stable—I can't move her yet!"

"The ship is mined. If we don't leave now, that blast will kill her either way."

Atton looked from Visas to Nadira. Her eyes had almost fallen shut. "Hey, don't you check out on me!" he jostled her slightly as he rose to his feet.

Nadira blinked twice, clinging feebly to consciousness. She squeezed his hand and his heart kicked up a notch. "Hang on," he said, kissing her forehead, then nodding to Visas to lead the way.

The group made a mad dash for the bridge door and didn't see Nihilus' body dissolving in a blood-red mist and tangle of Sith energy behind them. The black hole that had once been the Dark Lord collapsed, his insatiable hunger quenched at last as it fed upon itself.

As they neared the hanger bay, Nadira's breathing became increasingly shallow. But they hurried on, ignoring any distractions, desperate to make it to the shuttle where their unlikely comrade paced in agitation.

Mandalore had fired up the engines and was anxiously waiting for them. "Come on," he muttered under his breath. "I don't wanna have to leave you behind. Confounded Jedi." The second Atton and Visas appeared around the corner, he began to motion frantically. "Move it! We've got three minutes to clear the blast radius!"

He moved the second they were aboard, not even waiting for them to strap in. Jostled severely, Atton snapped at Mandalore.

"Be careful! Nadira's in rough shape back here!"

"She can thank me or file a complaint about my piloting skills later," Mandalore retorted.

"If she lasts that long!"

"Listen, lovebird, if I don't get us out of range in time, you can bet she won't!"

Atton bit his tongue, turning back to Nadira. "Come on, hold onto me," he encouraged her quietly. "You're gonna make it." When she didn't respond, he added, "You said it yourself: you're stubborn."

Her lips twitched into as much of a smile as she could muster. Through the haze, she was lucky just to make out what he was saying. But just hearing his voice helped her to fight.

Visas watched the two in silent worry. She hadn't realized Nadira'd been injured or she would have helped her the moment Nihilus had been struck down. But the dark side had saturated the ship to say nothing of her conflicted feelings from her torn allegiances. She hadn't sensed the Exile's danger till she'd seen the look on Atton's face. As she sat and watched them, she silently fed strength into them both as she examined the Exile. Shaking her head at last, she turned to Atton.

"What happened? Her injuries from my—from Darth Nihilus are not that grave."

Atton looked from Visas to Nadira. She squeezed his hand in response, too weak to speak now.

Atton swallowed. "She had been tortured by the Sith a while ago, and given Destiny's Vengeance."

Visas blanched. "And she survived?"

"She'd been controlling it as best she could before, but…" his voice trailed off a moment. "We're gonna be cutting it close."

"Hold on!" came Mandalore's sudden shout from the pilot's seat.

Then a brilliant flash of light burned their eyes, making them sting. Seconds later, the shuttle rocked violently in the wake of the blast wave. Alarms and claxons blared but were drowned in the deafening roar, only gradually discernible as their ears stopped ringing. Atton fought to keep Nadira from being tossed about, tightening his grip and hunching over her protectively. At length, the ship finally stilled. Everyone looked up hesitantly, afraid to breathe. Visas and Atton flinched as Mandalore's exhilarated laughter shattered the silence.

"Just like the old days, huh, General?" he called over his shoulder.

Atton looked down to see Nadira's reaction, but started when he saw her eyes were closed. Quickly checking for her vital signs, he sighed wearily to feel a thready pulse. "Please don't give up on me now," he begged, clutching her to his chest.


	22. Recovery and Realizations

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 22: Recovery and Realizations**

Atton refused to let anyone take her from his arms, even when they reached the TCS. As their friends awaiting them caught sight of the group, their triumphant smiles fell to stares of alarm. Worried questions assaulted them, but Atton answered none of them. Wasting no time, he approached Mical.

No words were exchanged, the Disciple readily leading the way to the medical bay. Visas followed right behind them. Mira, Bao, and Mandalore followed but waited outside letting the others work unhindered.

The three worked tirelessly into the night, Visas only emerging a few times to gather items Mical needed. Atton never left Nadira's side, watching Mical work, helping whenever he could, but mostly feeding every ounce of strength he could into Nadira. In the end, all they could do was watch and wait.

Fatigued at length, Atton lay his head down on the bed beside Nadira. He took deep breaths to calm the misgivings that had been churning in his heart. Jharen's and Nihilus' mocking taunts had been streaming through his mind all day, plaguing him, haunting him.

"…_her screams will be etched into your memory so that even death won't free you…"_

"…_Die in the knowledge that you have failed her…"_

"I should have gotten to you sooner…" he breathed. His grip on her hand tightened as he fought a fresh wave of recrimination.

A light hand ran over his head, fingers running through his hair. He turned his head to see Nadira gazing at him from under sleepy lids. He gaped at her in surprise for a while before a smile lit his face. He wanted to say something but could hardly breathe. Part of him was afraid to speak for fear it might be a dream. He reached up and stroked her face. She leaned into his touch.

"You scared me there," he whispered.

"I keep my promises," she said in a soft voice.

"And test a man's constitution in the process." He nodded, pushing stray hairs back from her face. "I told you, you could beat this thing."

"Thanks to you." She squeezed his hand. "You didn't give up on me…even when I'd almost given up on myself."

"Your good nature rubbing off on me, again," he tried to groan, but his relief was evident. "You know I didn't ask to be inspiring—that's usually your department. But I'm glad it helped this time."

"Mandalore and Visas?"

Atton nodded reassuringly. "They're fine."

"And the others?"

"All alive and well. And before you ask, yes, Telos is still standing. Gren apparently thinks very highly of us now. Looks like we won't be visiting the detention area again anytime soon." Her hand on his arm drew his attention.

"And you? Are you injured?"

Atton chuckled. "Nah, just a couple scrapes and bruises, nothing a kid wouldn't get in a tussle." Seeing her concern linger, he laid his hand on top of hers. "I'm fine, completely uninjured. A little tired, but it has been a rather long couple of months followed by a disastrous week culminating in a terrifying day." _And it's not over yet_, he added to himself.

Her gaze lowered. "Before the _Ravager_, when we were separated," she said quietly, "I had thought you were right behind us. Then the level collapsed and I was afraid you were trapped." She couldn't even bring herself to think about how conflicted she'd felt about leaving him behind.

His hand squeezed hers. "I wasn't trapped. I ran into an old …buddy of mine in the Sith boarding party. I'd known him when I was one of them. We, uh…" he paused, "…had words."

"More than words, I'll bet," Nadira guessed. "What happened?"

"He had something I needed."

Nadira thought for a second before her eyes widened in realization. "The injection you gave me…" She'd hardly been conscious at that time, let alone cognizant of all that was happening around her. "What was it?"

"The cure for Destiny's Vengeance," he answered at length.

"A cure?!" she breathed.

He nodded. "Another of the Sith's closely guarded secrets. Only a handful of Sith even knew the formula. Few more knew it existed."

"And this Sith you met had it?"

"Yeah. I almost killed him for it," he admitted, eyes cast down till her hand brushed his cheek.

"'Almost.'" She smiled at him gently. "I owe you more than I can say."

"You don't owe me a thing," he said firmly, shaking his head. "Just get better soon, and we'll call it even."

She chuckled tiredly. "Deal."

He nodded but still couldn't bring himself to leave her. "I think I'll stay here. You know, to make sure you don't sneak out like last time."

Her grin brightened. "I would certainly love the company…especially yours," she added softly.

Atton had to fight to keep his expression nonchalant, hiding his pleasure at her confession. "You have really lousy taste, you know that?"

She shrugged weakly. "Funny. I was going to say the same thing."

Nadira slept off and on, recovering her strength while Atton kept watch over her. Mical informed the rest of the crew of her condition and recovery. Afterwards he and Visas handled the debriefings.

After assuring themselves with their own eyes as to Nadira's health, Atton had shooed them away. Mandalore and Mira exchanged comments about Atton's motives for getting himself alone with her. Bao-Dur rolled his eyes, but clapped Atton on the back with his artificial hand as he left the room.

It was about an hour later when the door to the med bay hissed open again. Atton didn't even have to turn to know who it was. "So how did the meetings go?"

"Well enough," came the reply. "How is she?" Mical's eyes drifted to where the Exile lay sleeping, peacefully it seemed for the first time.

"She's recovering much faster than I thought she would, now that she's made the turn," Atton sighed.

"I'm glad to hear it," Mical said, breathing easier at the report. He rolled her over onto her side to check the wound and its dressing. "It's mending quite well given how severe her infection was. She should be up in about three to five days if she keeps at this rate." He grimaced to see the scars decorating her back. "…I never had the least suspicion…"

"She didn't mean to show me either," Atton said. "I caught her unawares on the way here." He grimaced when he wondered how she'd react when she discovered that he'd told Mical. Not like he had a choice. And she had given him permission to tell Visas. But Mical and Visas had both been sworn to secrecy.

"Still…" he shook his head, "I can't believe how well she hid this from all of us."

"It's not something anyone in her position would deal with easily," the pilot murmured. "She doesn't like to show weakness."

Mical frowned. "No, she doesn't. But I wonder at what she perceives to be a 'weakness'. To have survived such atrocities, let alone without assistance, only shows great strength."

"They never see it from that side—she couldn't." Atton paused in thought. "Showing those wounds, discussing how she got them, makes her feel vulnerable. And that pain runs deeper than those scars could ever show."

Mical nodded after a second, conceding the point. He replaced the bandage with a fresh one. That being done, he moved for the door.

"Hey."

Atton's voice made him pause.

"Thank you…for saving her."

The Disciple turned. "You did most of that yourself. I did little more than bandage her up and administer adrenal stimulants."

"Still…" Atton insisted, however haltingly, "she wouldn't have made it without your help." He stood and turned. After eyeing the Disciple for a long moment, he offered his hand.

Surprised, Mical's eyebrows rose. But then he smiled, clasped it, and gave it a firm shake. "She's my master as well as yours. While her bond with you is stronger than with me, I still care about her greatly. There is no need to thank me for what I would have done anyway."

"Let me thank you anyway, would you twerp?" Atton's exasperated comment earned a chuckle from Mical. "I don't give it often—not often enough by a long shot, I'd guess."

"Well in that case, you're more than welcome, Atton," Mical consented with an obliging nod, belied by an almost cocky grin.

Atton blinked—he'd never seen him wear such a look before. "Well, look at that! The tyke is learning how to loosen up!" he crowed. "Now see that's more like it!" He gave the younger man a teasing shove, one that was returned in kind.

"Oh," Mical said, remembering something. "Admiral Onasi wishes to meet with Nadira before we depart."

Atton's brow furrowed. "But we're going to be heading out to Malachor tomorrow morning. Did he say what he wanted with her?"

"No. I didn't speak with him. Lt. Grenn gave me the Admiral's message. He apparently didn't tell the lieutenant what it was about either."

Atton thought for a moment. His gaze flitted to Nadira, still asleep, then to the floor. "I'll call him."

Mical's face twisted with uncertainty. "He specifically wanted to see Nadira."

"Come on, Mical. It's not like she's in any condition to be up and around, let alone sit in for some inquiry. And we'll be gone before she can."

"And if he insists on seeing her?"

Atton sighed heavily. "Then I'll be as diplomatic as I can."

The Disciple only tilted his head with unconcealed disbelief. Atton rolled his eyes.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, kid," he said, shaking his head before meeting his gaze seriously. "Look Mical, I promise, I'll handle it."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

Mical clapped Atton's shoulder in acceptance. "Very well. Call me if you two need anything. I think I'll retire to my quarters."

"Thanks, kid."

After Mical left, Atton checked to make sure Nadira was sleeping comfortably. Then moving to a small adjoining room, he activated the comm channel. "Put me through to Admiral Onasi, please."

"May I ask what business you have with the Admiral?" the cadet currently assisting Onasi asked.

"Not sure actually. I'm calling on behalf of the Exile. He'd said he wanted to speak with her."

"It's alright, Latham," said a voice before a man walked into frame. "I'll take it from here." The young soldier saluted then walked away.

Atton studied the hologram of the man now standing before him, assessing him in a glance. Admiral Carth Onasi, famed hero of the Republic, stood tall, erect. His profession would have been evident in his posture whether he'd been wearing his uniform or not. His rank, too, showed in his commanding presence. Yet while he had what it took to be an Admiral, Atton could tell he carried it well. There was no arrogance in the face that seemed in turn to evaluate him as well. The lines etched into his face spoke of joys in laughter creases and sorrows in worry lines. And the latter were far more prominent now. For whatever purpose he wished to see the Exile, it was a grave topic. _And personal_, Atton guessed a beat later.

"Admiral Onasi," he began, assuming his old soldier's stance instinctively.

"I asked to meet with the Exile," Onasi said.

"She was gravely injured during the battle," Atton explained. "She's recovering, but not well enough to attend a meeting."

Onasi nodded. "When will she be well enough to receive visitors?"

"Our medic says about three to five days, but we plan to leave before then."

Onasi cocked his head. "While she's still recovering?"

"We stopped Nihilus here, but there are still two Sith Lords out there. The Exile was insistent with her instructions. If we don't get to them soon, it will be too late. She'll have just enough time to recuperate on the way there."Atton shrugged. "Unless you wanna wait till we get back, you'll have to settle for me."

He could see Onasi considering his options. "And who are you?"

"Lieutenant Atton Rand, formerly of the battle cruiser _Indomitable_."

"Odd uniform for a soldier," Onasi commented, eyeing the Jedi robe Atton had donned while the clothes he wore during the battle were cleaned.

Atton chuckled as he looked down at them. They had been the only set of clothing left in the bin, and he had been hesitant to wear them. He may have been training under Nadira, but he didn't feel he had come close to earning the right to wear them. Not while he still had so much of the Order's blood on his hands. "She agreed to train me when I told her I was Force sensitive."

Onasi nodded in approval. "It's good to see the Jedi aren't completely gone from the galaxy. When they disappeared, we feared the worst." He paused. "I'm not sure how well you'd be able to answer my questions…How well do you know the Exile?"

This simple question set off several alarms in Atton's mind. But he let none of it show, gauging this man in the Force as well as possible. He could sense no malice behind the question. No deceit to fish secrets out of him. Just a consuming worry that enveloped him. That worry was familiar...the same gut-wrenching sensation Atton had experienced while searching for Nadira not eighteen hours ago. Onasi was worried about _someone_—in a way that he'd have sacrificed his life to guarantee their safety. And his inability to do so galled him.

A sound to his left made him spin. Nadira was grasping the doorjamb with one hand and rubbing her eyes with the other. "Atton, who is that?"

"What is the matter with you?!" he demanded, shaking his head in disbelief. "You have a death wish, woman! Go back to bed!"

"But who is it?" she asked tiredly, almost as though she didn't hear his protests.

He moved away from the comms device to help her back to the bed, against her will if necessary. "Admiral Onasi. Now you are getting back in that bed and you're gonna stay there till I tell you that you can get up again!"

She didn't resist his pull, stumbling a few times when her feet gave out from under her. "Fine," she muttered. "Apparently I'm going back to bed."

"Good." He helped her onto the bed and covered her again. "Do you know him?"

"I know more _about_ him. I did bump into him once, but it was a long time ago."

"Do you trust him?"

"Yes." Though tired, her nod was decisive.

After a minute, Atton nodded too. But Nadira didn't see, already asleep again. Rising to his feet, he walked back to the other room where a very amused admiral was waiting for him. Atton smoothed his robes slightly, and could hear Onasi chuckle at the motion.

"She sounds… tenacious," he commented diplomatically.

Atton sighed. "That's _one_ way of putting it. I had a few other words in mind," he confessed, "but we'll go with yours. It seems less likely to get me killed once she can walk by herself again."

"Seems like you know her…quite well." The admiral's expression had changed. Not to guile, but respect, surprising Atton greatly.

Considering Nadira's words, he waited a moment before agreeing: he could trust this man. At least somewhat. "Better than most," he said tentatively. "Why?"

Carth Onasi looked aside, grim lines settling deeper. "I wanted to speak to her about a mutual acquaintance, and I was hoping the Exile could help me. Telos is my homeworld. I wasn't able to be here to protect it when the Sith attacked it the first time. This time, she gave me a second chance. I owe her for that. And an act like that earns my trust faster than most earn it. I read her records, how the Jedi sentenced her for doing what she believed. I also know that she wandered past the Outer Rim in her exile." He looked at Atton who nodded. "You know about her wanderings?"

"Not in detail," Atton answered, "but we have talked about it."

Carth nodded, frowning. "Do you know… did she find any trace of Rína Obsidian?"

"You're looking for Revan?"

"You might know her as that, yes," Onasi answered, but Atton could tell from his tone that it hurt to call her by her Sith title.

"No she didn't see her during her exile, and she's been looking for her, too." Atton cocked his head looking at the admiral. "Did you know her?"

Onasi didn't answer immediately. "I served with her, like the Exile did. And we had to part, like they did." His voice strained in grief.

Atton wondered if he could get some information on Revan for Nadira. "Why?"

Carth sighed wearily. "She said there were places she had to walk where I could not go—places that she could not bring those she loved. I've waited for her to come back for almost four years. It doesn't get easier as time passes. I would have done anything she asked. And when she told me to stay here and try to keep the Republic strong, that was the hardest thing of all."

"Why did she ask that?"

The admiral shook his head. "I don't know. But it was important to her. She said that she believed something had been behind the Mandalorian Wars. That it hadn't been the Mandalorians' choice to attack the Republic."

Atton blinked dazed by the concept alone. It wasn't possible! He had seen. Onasi had seen! The galaxy had seen how far they'd go. What could possibly have compelled such a race from without?

But Onasi continued. "Whatever it was, I think she went off to find it… to fight it."

Atton set aside his questions. He may have to talk about this later with Mandalore. "So how did you know Revan?"

Carth told him the story of how they'd met five years ago, at the end of the Jedi Civil War, how they'd fought and faced death together, about her suppressed memories, her forgotten past. The tale was incredible. Well, so were all the tales about Revan, but something in Onasi's story held more credibility than the others Atton had heard.

"We saved the Republic," the man continued. "But it was like the war didn't end for her. She would keep remembering things that she had done, and it kept driving her. And she kept using it as a wall between us." He shook his head, running a hand over his face. "I think she finally remembered something terrible she had done during the Mandalorian Wars. And she went to put an end to it. She left without warning. She didn't say where, only that it was a place she couldn't take anyone that she loved."

Atton scoffed inwardly. _It must be a twin thing._

He then noticed Carth's eyes had risen to fix on him. "And here the Exile returns, with her ship, without her."

"Rev—Rína's ship?"

"Yes, wherever she went, your ship's been there."

"We've been trying to crack the navicomputer's database in order to find Revan, but couldn't. It's voice printed."

The Admiral cursed. "Rína, where are you?" Atton heard Onasi whisper. At length he nodded. "Of course. She'd cover her tracks well. She's tenacious, too." He gave a weary chuckle. "She and the Exile must have a lot in common."

_You have no idea. _

"If…if you succeed and return to that place, if you find some trace of Revan…"

"You want to know what we find?"

"No," Carth shook his head, a hint of fear clouding his strong eyes. The uncertainty passed and he looked up again. "Simply tell her, that Carth Onasi is waiting for her." He sighed. "I wish you and the Exile a safe journey."

Atton nodded. Carth watched the younger man's transmission fizzle out as they deactivated the comm.

"Did they know?" a voice came from behind him.

"No, they didn't," he answered.

A Jedi knight appeared at his shoulder, as tired and wracked with worry as he was despite her young years. But she forced a comforting smile for the admiral's sake, gripping his shoulder. Then shaking her head, she turned to the viewport, gazing at the debris orbiting Telos.

"There are times I'm afraid we'll never know why she left, Carth," she confessed. "It haunts me the uncertainty of why she left, why and how she sought to protect us."

"She asked us to stay, Bastila, to keep the Republic safe," he answered, his conviction causing her to turn back to face him. "It was important to her. We'll make her proud by the time she comes back."


	23. Unwilling Slave

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 23: Unwilling Slave**

Deep in the core of his fortress, Darth Sion sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, searching the galaxy with his thoughts. He struggled to regain his focus. It had been difficult ever since Korriban. A scowl further twisted his already disfigured face. Since he'd fought the Exile. He'd had her at his mercy. She'd had to flee. He should have ended it there! He should have chased her down and given her the gruesome end that all Jedi deserved. As he had done with Vash, the Master she had been seeking. It had been so easy with Vash. He'd felt no remorse, no hesitation. He never did. But with this wasted, battered, feeble…

_Beautiful…_

A roar of rage escaped his lips as he shot to his feet, looking for something to crush with his bare hands. He couldn't push her out of his mind, try as he might. Nor could he stamp out the admiration she evoked from him. Before, she had been just another Jedi, a reject at that. Even her beloved Order had deemed her worthless among their numbers. She was a symbol of how powerless the Jedi truly were, and he would erase her. Then Korriban, then their duel, the pathetic rescue attempt by two members of her crew. He could have slaughtered them all with the slightest effort. Nadira had struck him down certainly, but he'd revived. He always did. His hatred and will power kept him from dying. As long as he held onto it, he was invincible. In so doing, he suffered an infinity of mortal wounds, fatal blows, falling under their weight each time. And each time he'd gotten back up again. While he couldn't die, he still felt the pain. And each injury just added to the excruciating torment of his existence, one that both consumed and fueled him. Now, here he was, enslaved to his hatred.

But when he'd risen that time, he hadn't struck, hadn't done all the things he had planned for this moment. He'd faltered. She was different. As he'd fought her, he'd seen she had more strength than any of the Jedi he'd come across, despite her crippled connection to the Force. Subtle, he would have missed it if he hadn't felt the same type of gift before. She'd reminded him of Kreia, her thoughts inescapably present in the back of his mind. Kreia had used it to warp his beliefs, his perceptions, altering them until his will suited her purpose. Furiously, he'd sought to destroy the creature who dared to be Kreia's apprentice. But while Nadira's consciousness hovered in his mind, she made no truths his own, warped no understandings. She simply was, standing mute in his mind like a silent companion. That was why he had faltered. That she had such power and didn't use it to make him her slave… He couldn't conceive of it. Did she not know how? Surely she mustn't, or she would have forced him to bow at her feet as his cruel Master Traya had so often done. As they'd retreated to their ship, he'd ordered his men to let them go.

Since then, he'd been searching every record, every file he could find for more information about the Exile and her gifts. He couldn't wrap his mind around the concept that her strength lay chiefly, not in what she could do, but in what she chose not to do. Fixating on her hadn't helped to solve the conflict she created within him. That was why he had retreated to his meditation chamber. He needed to center himself. His entire store of strength was rooted in his unmitigated hatred, especially for the Jedi. And she inspired anything but.

One of the stone obelisks surrounding him splintered under the wrath of his frustration. Darth Sion beheld the splinters of rock with little satisfaction.

"Only the weak lose control like that," came a voice from the doorway.

"You!" Sion hissed in rage, spinning to see Darth Traya approaching him. He quickly hid his thoughts about the Exile in the only way he knew how, by focusing on his hatred for his former master.

"It has been some time," she said casually as she neared him.

He ignited his blade advancing on her, galled even more at her apparent indifference. "You were a fool to return. I spared you once. I will not do so again."

"Spare me?" she asked, seemingly unfamiliar with the instance he spoke of. "Ah, yes." A minute wave of her hand, and Sion felt as though he were being pressed from all sides by several metric tons of rock. His throat constricted, suffocating him as he collapsed to his knees. Traya loomed over him with unforgiving cruelty. "No, you simply did not learn the lesson I sought to teach, that your strength is as meaningless as the strength of my hand."

Only his spite kept him defiant under the brutality of her lesson. "Why… h-have you returned?" he demanded between gasps for air.

As his vision tunneled threateningly, Traya spoke, voice becoming almost too distant to hear. "Because now I understand why the Exile did what she did." Finally she released him, and he gasped raggedly trying to fill his lungs. "Come. There is much to be done."

Inwardly, he raged against it, but then, impossibly, he obeyed.


	24. Reflections

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 24: Reflections**

Nadira had slept most of the time till the rest of the crew was ready to depart. Atton had been loathed to leave her side, but he knew very well he couldn't carry her to the cockpit or fly the ship from the med bay. So, reluctantly, he'd asked Visas to stay with Nadira till he'd gotten them into hyperspace.

Visas sat by the bedside while the Exile slept. "Back to where we began, you and I," she mused. "Only our positions are reversed.

Nadira didn't respond. After a second, Visas took from her robes the mask she had pulled from Nihilus' body. She studied it, as though searching it for answers.

"Wow, I must have really been out of it," Nadira murmured catching Marr's attention. "I didn't even wake when I was moved out of the bed."

Visas gave a half smile. "You would have, if it hadn't been Atton carrying you," she observed simply.

Nadira smiled, but that smile faded when she saw what Visas was holding.

"I had to see for myself," the Miraluka whispered in explanation.

"What did you see when you looked at him?" Nadira asked gently.

"A man, nothing more," Visas shook her head in disbelief. "He was just a man. Yet how could he wield such destruction? He seemed like death itself behind that mask. Faceless. Formless. A shadow that threatened to swallow us whole." A haunted look crossed the woman's face. She started when the Exile touched her hand.

"He has no power over you anymore," she assured her. "You are free. You can choose your own path."

Visas shook her head. "You are my master now. And I will follow you wherever your path takes you. My path is at an end."

"Something tells me your path is only beginning," Nadira commented with a knowing smile.

Before she'd finished speaking, the door swooshed open and Mical stepped in. "So how's our patient doing?" he asked Visas. Visas didn't move, afraid to look at him just yet.

Nadira's grin widened. "Case and point," she murmured settling back down onto the bed.

Atton was logging the coordinates for lightspeed, fingers moving as quickly as they could. Once he had engaged the drives he didn't even stay to watch blurring stars become the haze of hyperspace. He unfastened his harness, having been faithful to wear it since the near miss above Onderon, and rose to his feet. As he turned, he froze to see Nadira in front of him, slowly entering the cockpit with a blanket wrapped around her.

Atton shook his head in amazement. "How many times are you and I gonna have to have this discussion before you learn how to take it easy?"

She smiled at him, her eyes shining more than they had in days. "Relax, flyboy, I got Mical's permission before leaving sick bay. As per your orders. Besides I can rest just as easily in the cockpit as I can in med bay."

He gave her an incredulous stare. "It's not going to be anywhere near as comfortable."

"Oh, I promise you, after Destiny's Vengeance, any chair is a throne fit for a Tarisian noble."

He nodded, conceding to her logic. Then his face became concerned. "How are you doing on that front?"

"Much better." She smiled. "I'm getting used to being able to take full breaths again."

Atton mirrored her smile without realizing it. All the time he had been rushing the cure to her, he had been terrified that he might discover that it was ineffective. No one in his acquaintance had ever heard about the cure, let alone seen it in action. Every step of the way, he had been praying that it hadn't been some elaborate hoax orchestrated by Revan to mislead her troops. If they knew there was no anti-toxin, they would never have willingly worked with a lethal serum that could be used against them. But it had saved her, and for that, he actually had a reason to be grateful to the Sith Lord.

When she wavered on her feet though, he jolted forward to steady her. Glaring at her through narrowed eyes he moved her over to the copilot's chair. "Let's not press our luck, okay?"

She sat down obediently, curling up into the chair with her knees pulled to her chest. He was actually surprised she'd managed it—the chair didn't seem conducive for such a posture. He shrugged, resuming his seat but turned towards Nadira.

"You going to be ready by the time we reach Malachor?" he asked. Such a frank question would have been surprising coming from anyone but him.

She chuckled mirthlessly. "As ready as I'll ever be. At least now I don't have to worry about having the physical strength to face her." She paused deep in thought. "But physical strength is never the issue when it comes to Kreia. And even having my full strength back, more than I've had in a decade, it still may not be enough to defeat her. Her mind games and manipulations through the Force are staggering."

"You have that same power," Atton reminded her. "And yours may be stronger than hers because you don't have to use it."

She met his gaze with uncertainty. "It wasn't enough to stop her from betraying us."

"But it may be enough to stop her now," Atton said thoughtfully. "She's always been unusually protective of you. In Atris' Academy, she learned who I was by searching my mind. She promised to keep my secret only if I swore to protect you."

Nadira's brow furrowed. "Why would she want to protect me? I was her pawn. I'm no longer of use. According to her philosophy I should have died along with the Masters."

"Exactly," Atton pointed out, leaning forward. "Something about you makes her disregard even the philosophies she clings to as sacrosanct."

The Exile shook her head. "But why would she do that? I don't understand."

Atton leaned back again. "I'd be willing bet that she doesn't either."


	25. Into the Void

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 25: Into the Void**

Nadira spent a good portion of her convalescence in the cockpit or in the cargo hold practicing with her lightsaber as much as she could get away with. Which was not much, she soon discovered. The crew was watching her like a hawk, making sure she didn't overtax herself. After another set of exercises, she made her way back to the cockpit. Atton glanced over his shoulder as she entered.

"Just in time—we're almost there," he said.

Nadira nodded, swiping a stray hair out of her face before it fell back stubbornly. "How soon?"

"Any minute now."

After a few moments, they dropped out of hyperspace. As the starscape came into focus, Malachor V loomed before them. What remained of it. And that was more than enough. Malachor seemed simultaneously to fill and consume even the vacuum of space around it. The broken up planet trailed into fields of space debris, gutted and sundered starships still floating around it. The gravity wells in the system were chaotic at best, fluctuating at random. And all around the graveyard world, the pall of death blanketed everything.

Nadira gripped the pilot's chair as she swayed. Atton looked back in worry.

"Nadira, are you okay?"

"I'm okay," she gasped taking a number of deep breaths to steady herself. "I just…I can feel it from here."

Atton's eyes darkened as he watched her, but she seemed to gather herself after a minute. "You gonna be alright?"

"Yeah, I will be," she nodded slowly. But there was strength behind it. She looked at him. "I won't be facing it alone."

"No, you won't."

She managed a smile. "Then, I'll be fine."

He nodded. As they neared the planet, Nadira squeezed his shoulder before turning for the door. "I should get ready to go."

"Nadira?" Atton called, a tinge of uncertainty in his tone.

She stopped and turned back to face him.

He grappled within himself for the words to say. Seeing her so close to death on the _Ravager_ had shaken him greatly. As he waited for her to regain consciousness, even as he'd held her on the bridge of the Sith warship, a panic had flared through him such as he'd never known in his life. He was going to lose her and she would never know the truth. Never know what he'd buried deep inside. Now they were facing not one, but two exceptionally powerful Sith Lords. He may never get another chance.

"Are you alright?" Her hand on his shoulder jarred him back to the present.

"Yeah, it's just… I need to tell you something," he began. She waited patiently, as she always did, while he searched for the courage to speak. "I couldn't say it before, but I—"

The _Hawk_ pitched severely as a gravity well around them fluctuated. Atton barely kept the ship from plowing into a floating chunk of the planet. Nadira slammed into a wall console, splitting her brow. She regained herself though, fighting her way to the copilot's seat.

Atton cursed as he fought another flux, this time to the opposite extreme. "What is with this place?"

"It's the mass shadow generator," Nadira called. "It destroyed the planet by increasing its gravitational pull exponentially. But now it's warped the gravity in this sector."

The careening ship entered what was left of the dark planet's atmosphere, still lurching erratically. Rand grappled with the control yoke, desperately trying to keep the ship in his command. But control was ripped from the equation as they entered a narrow gorge. "Hang on!"

They nicked one wall, then carved into the other, ricocheting at an increasing speed. Then out of the haze and mist of the electrical storm loomed two pillars of rock only a handful of meters from the viewport.

Before they had a chance to brace themselves, they were catapulted forward, carried by their momentum as the ship around them lurched to a stop. Both of them crashed into the viewport, its structure already weakened by the collision and cracking under their weight. Atton glanced up just in time to see the cracks stretching to cut a webbed design, widening by the second. He reached out to Nadira, but the transparisteel gave out beneath them. All they saw before the darkness claimed them was the sight of the _Ebon Hawk_ driven at a steep angle between the stone walls above them before it vanished in the thickening mists.


	26. Pawns

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 26: Pawns**

Sion stalked up the corridor to the meditation chamber. Darth Traya now sat where he once had, at the heart of the Sith fortress. While he growled in disgust, he still bowed in deference to his Master. For Master she was, now that she had reclaimed her title.

"The _Ebon Hawk_ is on Malachor—the Exile has returned, as you predicted," he reported dutifully.

"You sound surprised, Sion," she replied without moving to look at him. "You underestimate my capacity for premonitions?"

He did not answer.

"Then what? Speak, Sion."

"I didn't believe the Exile would be so foolhardy as to chase you," he answered frankly.

"Ah, but she must," Traya purred. "Her life and the fate of the galaxy depend on it."

"You think she will seek you out?"

"She would be a fool not to. Though, her pilot's influence may be rubbing off on her," she hissed in disgust.

Sion's eyebrows quirked but he let it go. Her tantrums were not his concern, not unless they were directed at him, at any rate. "I can sense that the Exile is not alone."

"Of course not," Traya scoffed. "No doubt, the fool himself. She's certain to have her pet pilot with her at least. She takes him everywhere. Has actually fallen for the broken thing despite my efforts to the contrary—"

"What?!" Sion burst before he could stop himself. Traya froze—there was no way she could have missed his words or the flare of jealousy sparked by her speculations.

After a second, she stood, then turned to face him. "Does that bother you, apprentice?"

"No" he lied, knowing it wouldn't work. She'd see through his feeble words. As she always did.

_You have been keeping secrets from me_, she wondered inwardly. _Maybe you learned more than I had suspected_. "You are repulsed by the notion that the Exile has a love…or that it is not you?"

His shoulders tensed then tightened more at her triumphant smile.

"So touching. Can it be you still have feelings within that shell?" she mused.

He burned, promising himself retributions he knew he would never have.

"Well then, my apprentice, I have a gift for you." _That fool shall grant me one final service for the trouble he's caused me._

Sion's eyes narrowed to slits, wary of anything Darth Traya could possibly want to give him.

"I give _him_ to you. Do with him as you will. If Atton Rand enters this temple, his life is yours to claim. But he must die—he will not be allowed to interfere with my plans for Nadira anymore."

A dark smile spread across Sion's face as he found himself relishing the task his master had assigned to him. But then his glee turned to caution. "And should I find the Exile first?"

"Bring her to me immediately," Traya answered. "I am eager to resume her training in earnest. She gave Sion a shrewd look. "You are to treat her with the highest possible respect—that is my command."

He nodded—that was one command he had no problem following. But still, he lingered.

"Is there something else, apprentice?"

"What do you intend to do with her?" He struggled in vain to sound only mildly curious.

"I will break her," Traya answered mercilessly. "I will show her the true nature of the Force—its cruelty and indifference—and the power she has within herself for defying it. She will be stronger than both of us by the time I have finished with her." With a wave of her hand, she dismissed him. "You have your instructions—do not disappoint me." She turned and sat, meditating once more.

"Yes," he droned hopelessly, "my master."


	27. Driving Forward

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 27: Driving Forward**

Nadira raised her head groggily, trying to get her vision to focus. Blinking bleary eyes, she remembered where she was. Slowly, the past while came back to her. They'd been falling. Her eyes shot open, still blurred but now wide with fear.

"Atton?" she called. "Atton!" Her voice only echoed back as if the planet itself was mocking her pain. "Atton!" But her scream went unheeded. Casting about, she could see no sign of the man. Looking up, she saw a narrow but slanted ledge. She had been deposited directly beneath it. It was possible she could have hit there first, then fallen again. It didn't appear wide enough though to have caught another. She tried to reach him through the Force, but the dark side clouded her senses, Malachor's painful past returning to haunt her present.

She fell to her knees. Breathing hard, she tried to gather herself. She had no idea if he was alive or dead…No! If he had died, she would have felt it. He had to be alive. Trying to find her center, she stilled her pounding heart. She had to keep going. He knew what her plans were, and most likely he wouldn't let her fight without him. Her best bet was to meet him at the Sith base further down the canyon. Reaching out to pull herself up, she noticed a gash on her arm for the first time. It wasn't deep but it bled liberally. Looking up, she saw a confirming stain on the edge of the shelf above her. She shook her head, tearing some cloth from her robe to bandage it. Having finished, she drew her sabers and started inward, legs wobbling from the fall combined with the oppressive weight of her history here. But she had more strength now, and one way or another, she promised herself to see it through to the end, whatever that may be.

Sometime later, Atton finally regained consciousness, only to go into a similar panic when he couldn't find Nadira. He called her name till his throat was raw, doing a thorough search of the area. She wasn't anywhere on this ledge of the canyon. Slowly his eyes turned to the sheer drop close to where he'd woken. He dropped to his knees at the edge and looked down. The ledge below was narrow, slanted and stained red somewhat. Shifting to lean farther, his fears were confirmed: blood. Fresh blood. It had to be Nadira's.

His heart began to race as he checked to ensure his sabers hadn't been lost in the fall. Finding them on his belt, he cinched it tighter as he began to look for a way down. Either she had been discovered by the enemy and dragged away, or she had hit the ledge before falling further. He couldn't tell from this angle how steep the ledge's incline was. Finally making it down, he traced the immediate area to sense her. But while he could sense that this was indeed her blood, he could discern no more, neither her whereabouts nor her fate. He was blinded by Malachor's darkness. Drawing his sabers, he hardened his resolve. No matter Nadira's fate, he would undoubtedly find her with the Sith. Moving immediately, he set off in search of Kreia.

Groans sounded throughout the ship as the crew of the _Ebon Hawk_ stumbled about, trying to piece together what had happened. Bao awoke with a gasp, clutching his ribs. Looking down he saw with surprise he had been thrown across the work bench which now lay on its side. …No, he realized as he cast about the swoop bay. The entire ship was on its side, that or the gravity generator was way off. Pulling himself with a wince to his feet, he walked across the wall then knelt by the door to the corridor, now a sudden drop. Grabbing the edge, he lowered his body and swung himself into the hall so he didn't keep dropping to the exit of the loading ramp. As he went, he met up with others, trying to assemble in the hold. A gash cut across Mical's forehead, but he ignored it, tending instead to a far more serious-looking injury Visas had sustained. Mira was checking a weapons cache to make sure none of their arsenal had been damaged, and the fully armored Mandalorian looked about, impassive behind the helmet, surveying the damage. To Bao's surprise, he nodded in approval.

His eyes narrowed. "You don't seem to be concerned about our situation, Mandalore."

"I'm not," he answered, shrugging. "Given the condition of the system and our manner of landing, our losses could have been a lot worse."

"You mean the damage to the ship and supplies," he guessed bitterly.

Mandalore turned pointedly toward him. "And in personnel. I was in the storage hold with Visas when we crashed. She should have been run through with how we landed."

"He pushed me away just in time," she said, not moving from where she sat.

Mical smiled, nodding in Mandalore's direction. "Then I owe you my thanks," he said before stammering. "It would be a shame to lose her." He winced not liking how that sounded. But Visas smiled slightly.

"I'm glad to know that I would be missed," she murmured.

Mical could only nod and duck his head to keep the others from seeing how his cheeks burned.

Bao looked over Mandalore, eyes searching in puzzlement. He seemed to be cautiously reevaluating the man. A little bit, anyways. He still destroyed entire worlds to provoke them into war. He would see. Then, looking around, his concern rose. "Where's the General? And where's Atton?"

"I think the love birds were in the cockpit when we landed," Mira commented as she donned several weapons from the locker.

"And they haven't come out yet?"

The others turned and looked at Bao-Dur before he, Mira, and Mandalore started to progress carefully toward the cockpit.

"Be careful," Bao cautioned, making sure they all had a secure grip on the wall panels before opening the cockpit door. Some of the haze from the storm had entered the small area, and with a rush of panic, they saw why. The viewport had been ruptured, shattering outward. Mandalore whistled.

"It's a good thing we'd hit atmosphere before that blew."

"It didn't blow," Bao murmured, working his way a bit closer. He pointed. "Look there—there's blood on the transparisteel."

"They were thrown out the viewport," Mira gasped, face ashen.

Bao got as close as he could without stepping onto what remained of the compromised transparisteel. Looking down, he shook his head. "I can't see how far they fell…it has to be a three story drop at least."

"So there's a chance both of them might be dead already?" Mandalore said, earning a harsh glare from Bao-Dur. "What? There's no use denying it's a possibility. If that's the case, we need to form contingency plans. We can't accomplish our mission if we ignore details because simply because they're unpleasant to consider."

Sighing, Bao-Dur climbed back up. "It's possible but highly unlikely. I've seen both survive circumstances substantially worse than this."

This seemed to assure Mira more and she swallowed, taking a deep breath to calm herself.

"Either way, we need to find them," Bao continued. They all moved to the hold.

"So what's the plan?" Mandalore asked.

Bao froze, shocked. The man was looking directly at him. "You're asking me?"

"With both Nadira and Atton gone, it would seem that either you or Mical would be left in charge." Mandalore chuckled, whispering conspiratorially to Bao. "And Mical looks as though he's a bit…preoccupied at the moment."

Mical pretended not to hear but his cheeks turned a deeper red than they had before.

Bao shook his head, but a smile had crept onto his face. "We find the General. She's alive. We'd know if she were dead. Her plans were to find Kreia and to stop her. We need to search for a base or foothold she has here. Before we head down, we need to check the area beneath the _Hawk_. Just to be sure."

Mical looked up. "Why? What happened?"

"They fell through the viewport when we crashed," Bao answered. "We don't know how far they fell, but they may be injured. One of them has at least sustained a cut or two. We'll need you in case their wounds are severe."

Having seen to Visas, Mical stood nodding. "I'll help however I can."

"The only problem left is the viewport itself. While we search the canyon and the Sith stronghold, someone needs to repair that so we can make a quick escape if we need to. And since Atton isn't here to handle it, and I'm the only mechanic left…"

T3 trundled up, beeping indignantly.

"It wasn't an insult to you T3…" Bao began but was cut off by sharp whistles and beeps. "We may need to leave at a moment's notice…"

The astromech droid tootled with confidence.

"You're sure you can get it fixed that quickly?" A shrill whistle made him raise his hands in surrender. "Alright, fine. Prove yourself and you can be the mechanic in residence on the _Ebon Hawk_."

T3 zipped away to get the spare transparisteel panels from the storage bay.

Bao sighed. "I really hope I don't regret this." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, then looked up. "We're going to be facing an onslaught of Sith no doubt, so I'm going to need as many of you as can fight. Visas are you well enough?"

"I am," she answered confidently, standing in a smooth motion. Mical looked at her in concern, but she nodded at him to allay his fears.

"Alright," Bao nodded. "Everyone with me. Let's move out."


	28. The Opening Gambit

A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.

**Chapter 28: The Opening Gambit**

Nadira panted slightly, trying to even out her breathing as she stepped over the fallen corpse of the greater storm beast. She had run into several of these creatures on the planet's surface. Force knew how they got there or how they'd survived on this forsaken world. But somehow they'd thrived, perhaps on the death and destruction she'd caused in killing the planet. Either way, she'd battled several in her search of the gorges along this region. She wearied of searching and was still worried about Atton. Part of her wanted to scream at the sky for Kreia to show herself. But as she rounded a corner, she froze at what she saw.

There, carved into the sheer rock face ahead of her, was an entrance to some sort of subterranean fortress. The stonework, intricate and elaborate, seemed at once naturally formed yet somehow out of place as it framed the massive doorway. And leading to the towering door was a narrow bridge that connected to a fan-shaped portico, lined with overlapping runic designs. Though seemingly ancient, the Exile knew this place could not have existed before the battle she'd fought here ten years ago. It never would have survived the Malachor's catastrophic fate. The haze of the dead world clung to this place like gauzy shroud, and as she gazed at the edifice, a chill ran down her spine. She knew instinctively that Kreia was inside.

Steeling her resolve, she drew herself up straighter and began across the bridge. As she reached the other side, there were shimmers in the air to her right. Then some glimmered to her left. She drew her sabers in a heartbeat as she found herself confronted with twenty Sith emerging out of stealth mode. Her eyes darted between them, considering which ones to focus her attacks on first. Then she saw them turn from her, falling instead into two lines across the portico. She blinked when she realized with surprise they weren't attacking her. Not lowering her weapons, she watched them move as the ranks of Sith soldiers stretched between her and the entry way. _Not an ambush…_ she realized. Both lines formed, every Sith knelt to the ground facing her path. _…It's an honor guard?_ She stared in mute astonishment for a time before deactivating her sabers. Keeping them in hand, she passed between the lines, her enemies kneeling to show her deference. Confusion was cut short by another chill, silencing every question in its wake. She banished all curiosity of why they showed her this honor—she had a feeling that she wouldn't want to know.

Inside, the Sith she encountered were less passive in their reception. She had cleared the doorway and stood at one end of a massive antechamber. The Jedi cast about. She'd hoped that if Atton had arrived first, he'd be stealthed, waiting for her somewhere nearby. But as she waited a minute or two, he did not appear. She could not afford to wait too long. With the group having been sent to greet her, it was impossible Kreia had missed their arrival. Again, she puzzled a moment over Kreia's contradicting behaviors regarding her. She'd used her, yet she'd felt compelled to protect her from the masters. She sought to destroy the galaxy, yet welcomed her blithely into her base of operations. She _had_ to know she'd come to stop her. Yet she was waiting—eagerly, it seemed—for Nadira to arrive.

The Exile paused to consider the merits of her own strategy. Something was off. What trick did Kreia have up her sleeve? The old woman was a consummate master in the art of strategy, perhaps even better than Nadira. What was she planning? Was it possible that Nadira had overlooked something? That she was playing into Kreia's hand? Growling under her breath in frustration and worry, she looked around again. And where was Atton?

She dropped to one knee to avoid a saber blow to her throat. And she turned the drop into a roll to avoid a volley of blaster fire after that. No more time for questions she couldn't answer. And no more time to spare waiting. She dove into the fray headlong.

Using her roll, she slashed out at the legs of two of her assailants before moving to the core of the group. Rising to her feet, she brought a blue saber up just in time to deflect a heavy blow from one of the Sith Marauders. Then she spun it up and around to score a deep gash across his chest. Carrying her momentum through, she swung around with her right blade to fend off one attacker and the left to neutralize another. Slowly, Nadira managed to thin the numbers of the party ambushing her. Blades clashed and sizzled. Blaster bolts sang before ricocheting back to their point of origin. The din of battle diminished until there was none left standing but the Exile.

Nadira straightened, pushing a sweat-dampened lock from her forehead as she reached the end of the antechamber. She had two choices from here. One set of doors led to the right, the other to the left. Sighing, she pursed her lips in indecision for a moment. Then shrugging, she passed through the right doors.

Atton was not as welcomed by Kreia's honor guard as the Exile had been. By the time he entered the Sith academy, he was cursing liberally and shrugging out of his singed outer robes. He had been fortunate to have such innate perceptions and thorough knowledge of stealthing technology. If not for these talents, he would not have discovered his attackers in time to survive the trap they'd almost sprung on him.

"Old bat," he growled, shaking the sleeve off in irritation when it clung to him stubbornly. "Hutt-spawned scow! Boy, have I got some things to say when I catch up to you again…" He kicked the robe into a corner to be less conspicuous. No need to leave an emblazoned sign saying, "PERIMETER BREACHED" for the Sith to find. In fact, he hoped to make it in and out before they noticed their presence. Then, he turned back to the length of the antechamber and his brow furrowed. A trail of bodies littered the floor.

Atton exhaled a sigh of relief. He wasn't thrilled at the evidence of their intrusion. But the knowledge that Nadira'd neither been killed in the fall nor taken prisoner by the Sith brought a smile to his face. He crossed his arms, chuckling as he shook his head.

"For all her gifts, the woman couldn't spell the word 'subtle' to save her life," he mused before moving farther into the base. He reached the doors, looking between them for a moment. There were no bodies on this end of the hall to hint at either one or the other. And in this clouded atmosphere he couldn't pierce the dark side to see which path she had chosen.

A sound at his left caught his attention, and he raised his sabers barely in time to deflect the blaster fire aimed at him. He'd run into a patrol making their rounds, but Atton was glad to see that it was, at least, a small unit. He lunged for the first set of gunners in the doorway. He slashed through one's rifle barrel while neatly halving the other in two. Before they'd had a chance to draw their vibroswords, their bodies collapsed to the ground. Jumping forward he dispatched the other three in similar fashion.

Thumbing off his sabers, he peered around the corner. The Sith in this section milled about casually. Some polished weapons or poured over datapads, while the Force users in the room were either field-stripping their sabers or meditating. Atton bit back a curse as he realized he'd landed in the barracks. Nadira, talent for diplomacy or no, would never have been able to make it through this room unchallenged, let alone unseen. She had definitely taken the route by the other wing.

He turned to head back, keeping a careful eye on the entrance to the barracks…and practically slammed bodily into the door. The conversation level in the barracks stilled at that. He shook his head and studied the door. He tried the door again, brow furrowing. _And again_. Still, it wouldn't budge. Footsteps approaching provoked another hissed curse. It was locked. _This is _so_ not my day._ He turned, gritting his teeth, grip shifting on his sabers. _I guess I'm taking this route after all._

Bao-Dur crouched next to the pool of blood on the ledge, doing an impressive job of keeping his balance. He studied the datapad in his hand, eyes narrowed till the read out came up. He sighed.

"It's the General's blood."

Standing on the ledge above him, the rest of the crew frowned, none too assured by his statement.

"How much is there?" Mandalore asked, voicing the question everyone else feared to.

"That's the good news," Bao answered, standing. "There's only a small amount here. The cut was either superficial or she dealt with it in time to avoid bleeding out."

"Thank goodness," Mical breathed. "Is there any sign of them or which direction they went?"

Bao scanned the area slowly before shaking his head. "Aside from the blood, not a trace." He paused. "Though if I had to wager a guess…I'd say they went deeper into the gorge." He pointed at the path that cut downward along the canyon.

"What makes you say that?" Mira asked frowning.

"He's right," Mandalore nodded. "The safest place to launch your forces from would be at the heart of those rifts. It's the most defensible. Obsidian's smart—she knows that's where she'll find our enemy. If the old crone is on this rock, that's most likely where we'll find her. And them."

"Then we know our path," Visas said, agreeing with Mandalore's logic.

Bao too nodded, leading the group inward through the labyrinths into the heart of Malachor.


End file.
